A   ROMAN   SINGER 


A   ROMAN   SINGER 


BY 


F.   MARION   CRAWFORD 

AUTHOR  OF  "MB.   ISAACS,"   "  DB.  CLAUDIUS,"   "TO  LEBWABD ' 


^    or  THF 
UNIVERSITY 

C*l 


gorfe 
THE    MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
1906 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1883  AND  1884, 
BY  HOUQHTON,   MIFFLIN  &  CO.   AND  F.   MARION  CRAWFORD. 

COPYRIGHT,  1893, 
BY    F.  MARION   CRAWFORD. 


First  published  1883.     New  Uniform  Edition  set  up  and  electrotyped 
February,  1893.     Reprinted  July,  1893;  June,  1894;  March,  1896;  August, 
1898  ;  July,  1901;  August,  1904;  September,  1906. 


Sixteenth  Thousand 


J.  8.  Cushinj,'  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


o 


A  ROMAN  SINGER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I,  COKNELIO  GRANDI,  who  tell  you  these  things, 
have  a  story  of  my  own,  of  which  some  of  you  are 
not  ignorant.  You  know,  for  one  thing,  that  I  was 
not  always  poor,  nor  always  a  professor  of  philoso 
phy,  nor  a  scribbler  of  pedantic  articles  for  a  living. 
Many  of  you  can  remember  why  I  was  driven  to  sell 
my  patrimony,  the  dear  castello  in  the  Sabines,  with 
the  good  corn-land  and  the  vineyards  in  the  valley, 
and  the  olives,  too.  For  I  am  not  old  yet;  at  least, 
Mariuccia  is  older,  as  I  often  tell  her.  These  are 
queer  times.  It  was  not  any  fault  of  mine.  But 
now  that  Nino  is  growing  to  be  a  famous  man  in  the 
world,  and  people  are  saying  good  things  and  bad 
about  him,  and  many  say  that  he  did  wrong  in  this 
matter,  I  think  it  best  to  tell  you  all  the  whole  truth 
and  what  I  think  of  it.  For  Nino  is  just  like  a  son 
to  me;  I  brought  him  up  from  a  little  child,  and 
taught  him  Latin,  and  would  have  made  a  philoso 
pher  of  him.  What  could  I  do?  He  had  so  much 
voice  that  he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  it. 

His  mother  used  to  sing.  What  a  piece  of  a 
woman  she  was!  She  had  a  voice  like  a  man's,  and 

1 

15 


2  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

when  De  Pretis  brought  his  singers  to  the  festa  once 
upon  a  time,  when  I  was  young,  he  heard  her  far 
down  below,  as  we  walked  on  the  terrace  of  the 
palazzo,  and  asked  me  if  I  would  not  let  him  educate 
that  young  tenor.  And  when  I  told  him  it  was  one 
of  the  contadine,  the  wife  of  a  tenant  of  mine,  he 
would  not  believe  it.  But  I  never  heard  her  sing 
after  Serafino  —  that  was  her  husband  —  was  killed 
at  the  fair  in  Genazzano.  And  one  day  the  fevers 
took  her,  and  so  she  died,  leaving  Nino  a  little  baby. 
Then  you  know  what  happened  to  me,  about  that 
time,  and  how  I  sold  Castel  Serveti  and  came  to  live 
here  in  Rome.  Nino  was  brought  to  me  here.  One 
day  in  the  autumn,  a  carrettiere  from  Serveti,  who 
would  sometimes  stop  at  my  door  and  leave  me  a 
basket  of  grapes  in  the  vintage,  or  a  pitcher  of  fresh 
oil  in  winter,  because  he  never  used  to  pay  his  house- 
rent  when  I  was  his  landlord  —  but  he  is  a  good  fel 
low,  Gigi —  and  so  he  tries  to  make  amends  now; 
well,  as  I  was  saying,  he  came  one  day  and  gave  me 
a  great  basket  of  fine  grapes,  and  he  brought  Nino 
with  him,  a  little  boy  of  scarce  six  years  —  just  to 
show  him  to  me,  he  said. 

He  was  an  ugly  little  boy,  with  a  hat  of  no  par 
ticular  shape  and  a  dirty  face.  He  had  great  black 
eyes,  with  ink-saucers  under  them,  calamai,  as  we 
say,  just  as  he  has  now.  Only  the  eyes  are  bigger 
now,  and  the  circles  deeper.  But  he  is  still  suffi 
ciently  ugly.  If  it  were  not  for  his  figure,  which 
is  pretty  good,  he  could  never  have  made  a  fortune 
with  his  voice.  De  Pretis  says  he  could,  but  I  do 
not  believe  it. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  3 

Well,  I  made  Gigi  come  in  with  Nino,  and  Mariuc- 
cia  made  them  each  a  great  slice  of  toasted  bread  and 
spread  it  with  oil,  and  gave  Gigi  a  glass  of  the  Ser- 
veti  wine,  and  little  Nino  had  some  with  water. 
And  Mariuccia  begged  to  have  the  child  left  with 
her  till  Gigi  went  back  the  next  day ;  for  she  is  fond 
of  children  and  comes  from  Serveti  herself.  And 
that  is  how  Nino  came  to  live  with  us.  That  old 
woman  has  no  principles  of  economy,  and  she  likes 
children. 

"What  does  a  little  creature  like  that  eat?"  she 
asked.  "  A  bit  of  bread,  a  little  soup  —  macchd !  You 
will  never  notice  it,  I  tell  you.  And  the  poor  thing 
has  been  living  on  charity.  Just  imagine  whether 
you  are  not  quite  as  able  to  feed  him  as  Gigi  is  1 " 

So  she  persuaded  me.  But  at  first  I  did  it  to 
please  her,  for  I  told  her  our  proverb,  which  says 
there  can  be  nothing  so  untidy  about  a  house  as 
children  and  chickens.  He  was  such  a  dirty  little 
boy,  with  only  one  shoe  and  a  battered  hat,  and  he 
was  always  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice  and  throw 
ing  things  into  the  well  in  the  cortile. 

Mariuccia  can  read  a  little,  though  I  never  believed 
it  until  I  found  her  one  day  teaching  Nino  his  letters 
out  of  the  Vite  dei  Santi.  That  was  probably  the 
first  time  that  her  reading  was  ever  of  any  use  to 
her,  and  the  last,  for  I  think  she  knows  the  Lives  of 
the  Saints  by  heart,  and  she  will  certainly  not  venture 
to  read  a  new  book  at  her  age.  However,  Nino  very 
soon  learned  to  know  as  much  as  she,  and  she  will 
always  be  able  to  say  that  she  laid  the  foundation  of 
his  education.  He  soon  forgot  to  throw  handfuls  of 


4  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

mud  into  the  well,  and  Mariuccia  washed  him,  and 
I  bought  him  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  we  made  him  look 
very  decent.  After  a  time  he  did  not  even  remem 
ber  to  pull  the  cat's  tail  in  the  morning,  so  as  to 
make  her  sing  with  him,  as  he  said.  When  Mariuc 
cia  went  to  church  she  would  take  him  with  her,  and 
he  seemed  very  fond  of  going,  so  that  I  asked  him 
one  day  if  he  would  like  to  be  a  priest  when  he  grew 
up,  and  wear  beautiful  robes  and  have  pretty  little 
boys  to  wait  on  him  with  censers  in  their  hands. 

"No,"  said  the  little  urchin,  stoutly,  "I  won't  be 
a  priest."  He  found  in  his  pocket  a  roast  chestnut 
Mariuccia  had  given  him,  and  began  to  shell  it. 

"  Why  are  you  always  so  fond  of  going  to  church, 
then?"  I  asked. 

"If  I  were  a  big  man,"  quoth  he,  "but  really  big, 
I  would  sing  in  church,  like  Maestro  de  Pretis." 

"What  would  you  sing,  Nino?"  said  I,  laughing. 
He  looked  very  grave  and  got  a  piece  of  brown  paper 
and  folded  it  up.  Then  he  began  to  beat  time  on  my 
knees  and  sang  out  boldly,  Cornu  ejus  exaltabitur. 

It  was  enough  to  make  one  laugh,  for  he  was 
only  seven  years  old,  and  ugly  too.  But  Mariuccia, 
who  was  knitting  in  the  hall-way,  called  out  that  it 
was  just  what  Maestro  Ercole  had  sung  the  day 
before  at  vespers,  every  syllable. 

I  have  an  old  piano  in  my  sitting-room.  It  is 
a  masterpiece  of  an  instrument,  I  can  tell  you;  for 
one  of  the  legs  is  gone  and  I  propped  it  up  with  two 
empty  boxes,  and  the  keys  are  all  black  except  those 
that  have  lost  the  ivory,  —  and  those  are  green.  It 
has  also  five  pedals,  disposed  as  a  harp  underneath; 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  5 

but  none  of  them  make  any  impression  on  the  sound, 
except  the  middle  one,  which  rings  a  bell.  The 
sound-board  has  a  crack  in  it  somewhere,  Nino  says, 
and  two  of  the  notes  are  dumb  since  the  great  Ger 
man  maestro  came  home  with  my  boy  one  night,  and 
insisted  on  playing  an  accompaniment  after  supper. 
We  had  stewed  chickens  and  a  flask  of  Cesanese,  I 
remember,  and  I  knew  something  would  happen  to 
the  piano.  But  Nino  would  never  have  any  other, 
for  De  Pretis  has  a  very  good  one ;  and  Nino  studies 
without  anything  —  just  a  common  tuning  fork  that 
he  carries  in  his  pocket.  But  the  old  piano  was  the 
beginning  of  his  fame.  He  got  into  the  sitting-room 
one  day,  by  himself,  and  found  out  that  he  could 
make  a  noise  by  striking  the  keys,  and  then  he  dis 
covered  that  he  could  make  tunes,  and  pick  out  the 
ones  that  were  always  ringing  in  his  head.  After  that 
he  could  hardly  be  dragged  away  from  it,  so  that  I 
sent  him  to  school  to  have  some  quiet  in  the  house. 

He  was  a  clever  boy,  and  I  taught  him  Latin  and 
gave  him  our  poets  to  read;  and  as  he  grew  up  I 
would  have  made  a  scholar  of  him,  but  he  would 
not.  At  least,  he  was  always  willing  to  learn  and 
to  read;  but  he  was  always  singing,  too.  Once  I 
caught  him  declaiming  "Arma  virumque  cano  "  to 
an  air  from  the  Trovatore,  and  knew  he  could 
never  be  a  scholar  then,  though  he  might  know  a 
great  deal.  Besides,  he  always  preferred  Dante  to 
Virgil,  and  Leopardi  to  Horace. 

One  day,  when  he  was  sixteen  or  thereabouts,  he 
was  making  a  noise,  as  usual,  shouting  some  motive 
or  other  to  Mariuccia  and  the  cat,  while  I  was  labour- 


6  A  ROMAN   SINGEE. 

ing  to  collect  my  senses  over  a  lecture  I  had  to  pre 
pare.  Suddenly  his  voice  cracked  horribly  and  his 
singing  ended  in  a  sort  of  groan.  It  happened  again 
once  or  twice,  the  next  day,  and  then  the  house  was 
quiet.  I  found  him  at  night  asleep  over  the  old 
piano,  his  eyes  all  wet  with  tears. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Nino?"  I  asked.  "It  is 
time  for  youngsters  like  you  to  be  in  bed." 

"Ah,  Messer  Cornelio,"  he  said,  when  he  was 
awake,  "I  had  better  go  to  bed,  as  you  say.  I 
shall  never  sing  again,  for  my  voice  is  all  broken  to 
pieces ;  "  and  he  sobbed  bitterly. 

"The  saints  be  praised,"  thought  I;  "I  shall  make 
a  philosopher  of  you  yet!  " 

But  he  would  not  be  comforted,  and  for  several 
months  he  went  about  as  if  he  were  trying  to  find 
the  moon,  as  we  say;  and  though  he  read  his  books 
and  made  progress,  he  was  always  sad  and  wretched, 
and  grew  much  thinner,  so  that  Mariuccia  said  he 
was  consuming  himself,  and  I  thought  he  must  be  in 
love.  But  the  house  was  very  quiet. 

I  thought  as  he  did,  that  he  would  never  sing  again, 
but  I  never  talked  to  him  about  it,  lest  he  should  try, 
now  that  he  was  as  quiet  as  a  nightingale  with  its 
tongue  cut  out.  But  nature  meant  differently,  I  sup 
pose.  One  day  De  Pretis  came  to  see  me ;  it  must  have 
been  near  the  new  year,  for  he  never  came  often  at 
that  time.  It  was  only  a  friendly  recollection  of  the 
days  when  I  had  a  castello  and  a  church  of  my  own 
at  Serveti,  and  used  to  have  him  come  from  Rome  to 
sing  at  the  festa,  and  he  came  every  year  to  see  me ; 
and  his  head  grew  bald  as  mine  grew  grey,  so  that  at; 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  7 

last  he  wears  a  black  skull  cap  everywhere,  like  a 
priest,  and  only  takes  it  off  when  he  sings  the  Gloria 
Patri,  or  at  the  Elevation.  However,  he  came  to 
see  me,  and  Nino  sat  mutely  by,  as  we  smoked  a  lit 
tle  and  drank  the  syrup  of  violets  with  water  that 
Mariuccia  brought  us.  It  was  one  of  her  external 
extravagances,  but  somehow,  though  she  never  un 
derstood  the  value  of  economy,  my  professorship 
brought  in  more  than  enough  for  us,  and  it  was  not 
long  after  this  that  I  began  to  buy  the  bit  of  vine 
yard  out  of  Porta  Salara,  by  instalments  from  my 
savings.  And  since  then,  we  have  our  own  wine. 

De  Pretis  was  talking  to  me  about  a  new  opera  he 
had  heard.  He  never  sang  except  in  church,  of 
course,  but  he  used  to  go  to  the  theatre  of  an  even 
ing  ;  so  it  was  quite  natural  that  he  should  go  to  the 
piano  and  begin  to  sing  a  snatch  of  the  tenor  air  to 
me,  explaining  the  situation  as  he  went  along,  be 
tween  his  singing. 

Nino  could  not  sit  still,  and  went  and  leaned  over 
Sor  Ercole,  as  we  call  the  maestro,  hanging  on  the 
notes,  not  daring  to  try  and  sing,  for  he  had  lost  his 
voice,  but  making  the  words  with  his  lips. 

"Dio  mio!  "  he  cried  at  last,  "how  I  wish  I  could 
sing  that!" 

"Try  it,"  said  De  Pretis,  laughing  and  half  inter 
ested  by  the  boy's  earnest  look.  "  Try  it  —  I  will 
sing  it  again."  But  Nino's  face  fell. 

"It  is  of  no  use,"  he  said.  "My  voice  is  all  broken 
to  pieces  now,  because  I  sang  too  much  before." 

"Perhaps  it  will  come  back,"  said  the  musician 
kindly,  seeing  the  tears  in  the  young  fellow's  eyes. 


8  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

"See,  we  will  try  a  scale."  He  struck  a  chord. 
"Now,  open  your  mouth — so  —  Do-o-o-o!"  He 
sang  a  long  note.  Nino  could  not  resist  any  longer, 
whether  he  had  any  voice  or  not.  He  blushed  red 
and  turned  away,  but  he  opened  his  mouth  and  made 
a  sound. 

"  Do-o-o-o  I  "  He  sang  like  the  master,  but  much 
weaker. 

"Not  so  bad;  now  the  next,  Re-e-e!"  Nino  fol 
lowed  him.  And  so  on,  up  the  scale. 

After  a  few  more  notes,  De  Pretis  ceased  to  smile, 
and  cried,  "  Go  on,  go  on ! "  after  every  note,  au 
thoritatively,  and  in  quite  a  different  manner  from 
his  first  kindly  encouragement.  Nino,  who  had  not 
sung  for  months,  took  courage  and  a  long  breath, 
and  went  on  as  he  was  bid,  his  voice  gaining  volume 
and  clearness  as  he  sang  higher.  Then  De  Pretis 
stopped  and  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

"  You  are  mad,"  he  said.  "  You  have  not  lost  your 
voice  at  all." 

"  It  was  quite  different  when  I  used  to  sing  be 
fore,"  said  the  boy. 

"Per  Bacco,  I  should  think  so,"  said  the  maestro. 
"Your  voice  has  changed.  Sing  something,  can't 
you?" 

Nino  sang  a  church  air  he  had  caught  somewhere. 
I  never  heard  such  a  voice,  but  it  gave  me  a  queer 
sensation  which  I  liked  —  it  was  so  true,  and  young, 
and  clear.  De  Pretis  sat  open-mouthed  with  aston 
ishment  and  admiration.  When  the  boy  had  fin 
ished,  he  stood  looking  at  the  maestro,  blushing  very 
scarlet,  and  altogether  ashamed  of  himself.  The 
other  did  not  speak. 


A  KOMAN   SINGER.  9 

"Excuse  me,"  said  Nino,  "I  cannot  sing.  I  have 
not  sung  for  a  long  time.  I  know  it  is  not  worth 
anything."  De  Pretis  recovered  himself. 

"You  do  not  sing,"  said  he,  "because  you  have 
not  learned.  But  you  can.  If  you  will  let  me  teach 
you,  I  will  do  it  for  nothing." 

"Me!"  screamed  Nino,  "you  teach  me!  Ah,  if 
it  were  any  use  —  if  you  only  would!  " 

"  Any  use  ?  "  repeated  De  Pretis  half  aloud,  as  he 
hit  his  long  black  cigar  half  through  in  his  excite 
ment.  "Any  use?  My  dear  boy,  do  you  know  that 
you  have  a  very  good  voice?  A  remarkable  voice," 
he  continued,  carried  away  by  his  admiration,  "  such 
a  voice  as  I  have  never  heard.  You  can  be  the  first 
tenor  of  your  age,  if  you  please  —  in  three  years  you 
will  sing  anything  you  like,  and  go  to  London  and 
Paris,  and  be  a  great  man.  Leave  it  to  me." 

I  protested  that  it  was  all  nonsense,  since  Nino 
was  meant  for  a  scholar  and  not  for  the  stage,  and  I 
was  quite  angry  with  De  Pretis  for  putting  such 
ideas  into  the  boy's  head.  But  it  was  of  no  use. 
You  cannot  argue  with  women  and  singers,  and  they 
always  get  their  own  way  in  the  end.  And  whether 
I  liked  it  or  not,  Nino  began  to  go  to  Sor  Ercole's 
house  once  or  twice  a  week,  and  sang  scales  and 
exercises  very  patiently,  and  copied  music  in  the 
evening,  because  he  said  he  would  not  be  dependent 
on  me,  since  he  could  not  follow  my  wishes  in  choos 
ing  a  profession.  De  Pretis  did  not  praise  him 
much  to  his  face  after  they  had  begun  to  study,  but 
he  felt  sure  he  would  succeed. 

i6Caro  Conte,"  —  he  often  calls  me  Count,  though 


10  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

I  am  only  plain  Professore,  now  —  "  he  has  a  voice 
like  a  trumpet,  and  the  patience  of  all  the  angels. 
He  will  be  a  great  singer." 

"Well,  it  is  not  my  fault,"  I  used  to  answer;  for 
what  could  I  do  ? 

When  you  see  Nino  now,  you  cannot  imagine  that 
he  was  ever  a  dirty  little  boy  from  the  mountains, 
with  one  shoe,  and  that  infamous  little  hat.  I  think 
he  is  ugly  still,  though  you  do  not  think  so  when  he 
is  singing,  and  he  has  good  strong  limbs  and  broad 
shoulders,  and  carries  himself  like  a  soldier.  Be 
sides,  he  is  always  very  well  dressed,  though  he  has 
no  affectations.  He  does  not  wear  his  hair  plastered 
into  a  love  lock  on  his  forehead,  like  some  of  our 
dandies,  nor  is  he  eternally  pulling  a  pair  of  mon 
strous  white  cuffs  over  his  hands.  Everything  is 
very  neat  about  him,  and  very  quiet,  so  that  you 
would  hardly  think  he  was  an  artist  after  all ;  and 
he  talks  but  little,  though  he  can  talk  very  well 
when  he  likes,  for  he  has  not  forgotten  his  Dante  nor 
his  Leopardi.  De  Pretis  says  the  reason  he  sings  so 
well  is  because  he  has  a  mouth  like  the  slit  in  an 
organ  pipe,  as  wide  as  a  letter-box  at  the  post-office. 
But  I  think  he  has  succeeded  because  he  has  great 
square  jaws  like  Napoleon.  People  like  that  always 
succeed.  My  jaw  is  small,  and  my  chin  is  pointed 
under  my  beard  —  but  then,  with  the  beard  no  one 
can  see  it.  But  Mariuccia  knows. 

Nino  is  a  thoroughly  good  boy,  and  until  a  year 
ago  he  never  cared  for  anything  but  his  art ;  and  now 
he  cares  for  something,  I  think,  a  great  deal  better 
than  art,  even  than  art  like  his.  But  he  is  a  singer 


A  KOMAN   SINGER.  11 

still,  and  always  will  be,  for  he  has  an  iron  throat, 
and  never  was  hoarse  in  his  life.  All  those  years 
when  he  was  growing  up,  he  never  had  a  love-scrape, 
nor  owed  money,  nor  wasted  his  time  in  the  caffe\ 

"Take  care,"  Mariuccia  used  to  say  to  me,  "if  he 
ever  takes  a  fancy  to  some  girl  with  blue  eyes  and 
fair  hair,  he  will  be  perfectly  crazy.  Ah,  Sor  Conte, 
she  had  blue  eyes,  and  her  hair  was  like  the  corn- 
silk.  How  many  years  is  that,  Sor  Conte  mio?" 
Mariuccia  is  an  old  witch. 

I  am  writing  this  story  to  tell  you  why  Mariuccia 
is  a  witch,  and  why  my  Nino,  who  never  so  much  as 
looked  at  the  beauties  of  the  generone,  as  they  came 
with  their  fathers  and  brothers  and  mothers  to  eat 
ice-cream  in  the  Piazza  Colonna,  and  listen  to  the 
music  of  a  summer's  evening, — Nino,  who  stared 
absently  at  the  great  ladies  as  they  rolled  over  the 
Pincio  in  their  carriages,  and  was  whistling  airs  to 
himself  for  practice  when  he  strolled  along  the  Corso, 
instead  of  looking  out  for  pretty  faces,  —  Nino,  the 
cold  in  all  things  save  in  music,  why  he  fulfilled 
Mariuccia's  prophecjs  little  by  little,  and  became 
perfectly  crazy  about  blue  eyes  and  fair  hair.  That 
is  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  if  you  have  the  lei 
sure  to  listen.  And  you  ought  to  know  it,  because 
evil  tongues  are  more  plentiful  than  good  voices  in 
Rome,  as  elsewhere,  and  people  are  saying  many 
spiteful  things  about  him,  —  though  they  clap  loudly 
enough  at  the  theatre  when  he  sings. 

He  is  like  a  son  to  me,  and  perhaps  I  am  recon 
ciled,  after  all,  to  his  not  having  become  a  philoso 
pher.  He  would  never  have  been  so  famous  as  he  is 


12  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

now,  and  he  really  knows  so  much  more  than  Maestro 
De  Pretis  —  in  other  ways  than  music  —  that  he  is 
very  presentable  indeed.  What  is  blood,  nowadays  ? 
What  difference  does  it  make  to  society  if  Nino 
Cardegna,  the  tenor,  was  the  son  of  a  vine-dresser? 
Or  what  does  the  University  care  for  the  fact  that  I, 
Cornelio  Grandi,  am  the  last  of  a  race  as  old  as  the 
Colonnas,  and  quite  as  honourable?  What  does 
Mariuccia  care  ?  What  does  anybody  care  ?  Corpo 
di  Bacco!  if  we  begin  talking  of  race  we  shall  waste 
as  much  time  as  would  make  us  all  great  celebrities ! 
I  am  not  a  celebrity  —  I  never  shall  be  now,  for  a 
man  must  begin  at  that  trade  young.  It  is  a  profes 
sion  —  being  celebrated  —  and  it  has  its  signal  advan 
tages.  Nino  will  tell  you  so,  and  he  has  tried  it. 
But  one  must  begin  young,  very  young!  I  cannot 
begin  again. 

And  then,  as  you  all  know,  I  never  began  at  all. 
I  took  up  life  in  the  middle,  and  am  trying  hard  to 
twist  a  rope  of  which  I  never  held  the  other  end.  I 
feel  sometimes  as  though  it  must  be  the  life  of  an 
other  that  I  have  taken,  leaving  my  own  unfinished, 
1  for  I  was  never  meant  to  be  a  professor.  That  is 
the  way  of  it;  and  if  I  am  sad  and  inclined  to  melan 
choly  humours,  it  is  because  I  miss  my  old  self,  and 
he  seems  to  have  left  me  without  even  a  kindly  word 
at  parting.  I  was  fond  of  my  old  self.  But  I  did 
not  respect  him  much.  And  my  present  self  I  re 
spect,  without  fondness.  Is  that  metaphysics  ?  Who 
knows  ?  It  is  vanity  in  either  case,  and  the  vanity 
of  self-respect  is  perhaps  a  more  dangerous  thing 
than  the  vanity  of  self-love,  though  you  may  call  it 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  IS 

pride  if  you  like,  or  give  it  any  other  high-sounding 
title.  But  the  heart  of  the  vain  man  is  lighter  than 
the  heart  of  the  proud.  Probably  Nino  has  always 
had  much  self-respect,  but  I  doubt  if  it  has  made 
him  very  happy  —  until  lately.  True,  he  has  genius, 
and  does  what  he  must  by  nature  do  or  die,  whereas 
I  have  not  even  talent,  and  I  make  myself  do  for  a 
living  what  I  can  never  do  well.  What  does  it 
serve,  to  make  comparisons?  I  could  never  have 
been  like  Nino,  though  I  believe  half  my  pleasure  of 
late  has  been  in  fancying  how  I  should  feel  in  his 
place,  and  living  through  his  triumphs  by  my  im 
agination.  Nino  began  at  the  very  beginning,  and 
when  all  his  capital  was  one  shoe  and  a  ragged  hat, 
and  certainly  not  more  than  a  third  of  a  shirt,  he 
said  he  would  be  a  great  singer;  and  he  is,  though 
he  is  scarcely  of  age  yet.  I  wish  it  had  been  some 
thing  else  than  a  singer,  but  since  he  is  the  first 
already,  it  was  worth  while.  He  would  have  been 
great  in  anything,  though,  for  he  has  such  a  square 
jaw,  and  he  looks  so  fierce  when  anything  needs  to 
be  overcome.  Our  forefathers  must  have  looked  like 
that,  with  their  broad  eagle  noses  and  iron  mouths. 
They  began  at  the  beginning,  too,  and  they  went 
to  the  very  end.  I  wish  Nino  had  been  a  general, 
or  a  statesman,  or  a  cardinal,  or  all  three,  like 
Richelieu. 

But  you  want  to  hear  of  Nino,  and  you  can  pass 
on  your  ways,  all  of  you,  without  hearing  my  reflec 
tions  and  small-talk  about  goodness,  and  success,  and 
the  like.  Moreover,  since  I  respect  myself  now,  I 
must  not  find  so  much  fault  with  my  own  doings,  or 


14  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

you  will  say  that  I  am  in  my  dotage.  And,  truly, 
Nino  Cardegna  is  a  better  man,  for  all  his  peasant 
blood,  than  I  ever  was ;  a  better  lover,  and  perhaps  a 
better  hater.  There  is  his  guitar,  which  he  always 
leaves  here,  and  it  reminds  me  of  him  and  his  ways. 
Fourteen  years  he  lived  here  with  me,  from  child  to 
boy  and  from  boy  to  man,  and  now  he  is  gone,  never 
to  live  here  any  more.  The  end  of  it  will  be  that  I 
shall  go  and  live  with  him,  and  Mariuccia  will  take 
her  cat  and  her  knitting,  and  her  Lives  of  the  Saints 
back  to  Serveti,  to  end  her  life  in  peace,  where  there 
are  no  professors  and  no  singers.  For  Mariuccia  is 
older  than  I  am,  and  she  will  die  before  me.  At  all 
events,  she  will  take  her  tongue  with  her,  and  ruin 
herself  at  her  convenience  without  ruining  me.  I 
wonder  what  life  would  be,  without  Mariuccia? 
Would  anybody  darn  my  stockings,  or  save  the  peel 
of  the  mandarins  to  make  cordial?  I  certainly  would 
not  have  the  mandarins,  if  she  were  gone  —  it  is  a 
luxury.  No,  I  would  not  have  them.  But  then, 
there  would  be  no  cordial,  and  I  should  have  to  buy 
new  stockings  every  year  or  two.  No,  the  mandarins 
cost  less  than  the  stockings  —  and  —  well,  I  suppose 
I  am  fond  of  Mariuccia. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  15 


CHAPTER  II. 

IT  was  really  not  so  long  ago  —  only  one  year. 
The  scirocco  was  blowing  up  and  down  the  streets, 
and  about  the  'corners,  with  its  sickening  blast,  mak 
ing  us  all  feel  like  dead  people,  and  hiding  away  the 
sun  from  us.  It  is  of  no  use  to  try  to  do  anything 
when  it  blows  scirocco,  at  least  for  us  who  are  born 
here.  But  I  had  been  persuaded  to  go  with  Nino  to 
the  house  of  Sor  Ercole  to  hear  my  boy  sing  the  opera 
he  had  last  studied,  and  so  I  put  my  cloak  over  my 
shoulders,  and  wrapped  its  folds  over  my  breast,  and 
covered  my  mouth,  and  we  went  out.  For  it  was  a 
cold  scirocco,  bringing  showers  of  tepid  rain  from 
the  south,  and  the  drops  seemed  to  chill  themselves 
as  they  fell.  One  moment  you  are  in  danger  of 
being  too  cold,  and  the  next  minute  the  perspiration 
stands  on  your  forehead,  and  you  are  oppressed  with 
a  moist  heat.  Like  the  prophet,  when  it  blows  a 
real  scirocco  you  feel  as  if  you  were  poured  out  like 
water,  and  all  your  bones  were  out  of  joint.  Foreign 
ers  do  not  feel  it  until  they  have  lived  with  us  a  few 
years,  but  Romans  are  like  dead  men  when  the  wind 
is  in  that  quarter. 

I  went  to  the  maestro's  house  and  sat  for  two  hours 
listening  to  the  singing.  Nino  sang  very  creditably, 
I  thought,  but  I  allow  that  I  was  not  as  attentive  as 


16  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

I  might  have  been,  for  I  was  chilled  and  uncomfort 
able.  Nevertheless,  I  tried  to  be  very  appreciative, 
and  I  complimented  the  boy  on  the  great  progress  he 
had  made.  When  I  thought  of  it,  it  struck  me  that 
I  had  never  heard  anybody  sing  like  that  before,  but 
still  there  was  something  lacking;  I  thought  it 
sounded  a  little  unreal,  and  I  said  to  myself  that  he 
might  get  admiration,  but  never  any  sympathy.  So 
clear,  so  true,  so  rich  it  was,  but  wanting  a  ring  to 
it,  the  little  thrill  that  goes  to  the  heart.  He  sings 
very  differently  now. 

Maestro  Ercole  de  Pretis  lives  in  the  Via  Paola, 
close  to  the  Ponte  Sant'  Angelo,  in  a  most  decent 
little  house  —  that  is,  of  course,  on  a  floor  of  a  house, 
as  we  all  do.  But  De  Pretis  is  well  to  do,  and  he 
has  a  marble  door-plate,  engraved  in  black  with  his 
name,  and  two  sitting-rooms.  They  are  not  very 
large  rooms,  it  is  true,  but  in  one  of  them  he  gives 
his  lessons,  and  the  grand  piano  fills  it  up  entirely, 
so  that  you  can  only  sit  on  the  little  black  horsehair 
sofa  at  the  end,  and  it  is  very  hard  to  get  past  the 
piano  on  either  side.  Ercole  is  as  broad  as  he  is 
long,  and  takes  snuff  when  he  is  not  smoking.  But 
it  never  hurts  his  voice. 

It  was  Sunday,  I  remember,  for  he  had  to  sing  in 
St.  Peter's  in  the  afternoon ;  and,  as  it  was  so  near,  we 
walked  over  with  him.  Nino  had  never  lost  his  love 
for  church  music,  though  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  it  was  a  much  finer  thing  to  be  a  primo  tenore 
assoluto  at  the  Apollo  Theatre  than  to  sing  in  the 
Pope's  choir  for  thirty  scudi  a  month.  We  walked 
along  over  the  bridge,  and  through  the  Borgo  Nu- 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  1? 

ovo,  and  across  the  Piazza  Rusticucci,  and  then  we 
skirted  the  colonnade  on  the  left,  and  entered  the 
church  by  the  sacristy,  leaving  De  Pretis  there  to 
put  on  his  purple  cassock  and  his  white  cotta.  Then 
we  went  into  the  Capella  del  Coro  to  wait  for  the 
vespers. 

All  sorts  of  people  go  to  St.  Peter's  on  Sunday 
afternoon,  but  they  are  mostly  foreigners,  and  bring 
strange  little  folding  chairs,  and  arrange  themselves 
to  listen  to  the  music  as  though  it  were  a  concert. 
Now  and  then  one  of  the  young  gentlemen-in-waiting 
from  the  Vatican  strolls  in  and  says  his  prayers,  and 
there  is  an  old  woman,  very  ragged  and  miserable, 
who  has  haunted  the  chapel  of  the  choir  for  many 
years,  and  sits  with  perfect  unconcern,  telling  her 
beads  at  the  foot  of  the  great  reading-desk  which 
stands  out  in  the  middle  and  is  never  used.  Great 
ladies  crowd  in  through  the  gate  when  Raimondi's 
hymn  is  to  be  sung,  and  disreputable  artists  make 
sketches  surreptitiously  during  the  benediction  with 
out  the  slightest  pretence  at  any  devotion  that  I  can 
see.  The  lights  shine  out  more  brightly  as  the  day 
wanes,  and  the  incense  curls  up  as  the  little  boys 
swing  the  censers,  and  the  priests  and  canons  chant, 
and  the  choir  answers  from  the  organ  loft;  and  the 
crowd  looks  on,  some  saying  their  prayers,  some  pre 
tending  to,  and  some  looking  about  for  the  friend  or 
lover  they  have  come  to  meet. 

That  evening  when  we  went  over  together,  I  found 
myself  pushed  against  a  tall  man  with  an  immense 
grey  moustache  standing  out  across  his  face  like  the 
horns  of  a  beetle.  He  looked  down  on  me  from 


18  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

time  to  time,  and  when  I  apologised  for  crowding 
him  his  face  flushed  a  little,  and  he  tried  to  bow  as 
well  as  he  could  in  the  press,  and  said  something 
with  a  German  accent  which  seemed  to  be  courteous. 
But  I  was  separated  from  Nino  by  him.  Maestro 
Ercole  sang,  and  all  the  others,  turn  and  turn  about, 
and  so  at  last  it  came  to  the  benediction.  The  tall 
old  foreigner  stood  erect  and  unbending,  but  most  of 
the  people  around  him  kneeled.  As  the  crowd  sank 
down,  I  saw  that  on  the  other  side  of  him  sat  a  lady 
on  a  small  folding  stool,  her  feet  crossed  one  over 
the  other,  and  her  hands  folded  on  her  knees.  She 
was  dressed  entirely  in  black,  and  her  fair  face 
stood  out  wonderfully  clear  and  bright  against  the 
darkness.  Truly  she  looked  more  like  an  angel  than 
a  woman,  though  perhaps  you  will  think  she  is  not 
so  beautiful  after  all,  for  she  is  so  unlike  our  Roman 
ladies.  She  has  a  delicate  nose,  full  of  sentiment, 
and  pointed  a  little  downward  for  pride;  she  has 
deep  blue  eyes,  wide  apart  and  dreamy,  and  a  little 
shaded  by  brows  quite  level  and  even,  with  a  straight 
pencilling  over  them,  which  looks  really  as  if  it  were 
painted.  Her  lips  are  very  red  and  gentle,  and  her 
face  is  very  white,  so  that  the  little  ringlet  that  has 
escaped  control  looks  like  a  gold  tracery  on  a  white 
marble  ground. 

And  there  she  sat,  with  the  last  light  from  the  tall 
windows  and  the  first  from  the  great  wax  candles 
shining  on  her,  while  all  around  seemed  dark  by  con 
trast.  She  was  like  an  angel;  and  quite  as  cold, 
perhaps  most  of  you  would  say.  Diamonds  are  cold 
things,  too,  but  they  shine  in  the  dark;  whereas  a 


A   IIOMAN   SINGER.  19 

bit  of  glass  just  lets  the  light  through  it,  even  if 
it  is  coloured  red  and  green  and  set  in  a  church 
window,  and  looks  ever  so  much  warmer  than  the 
diamond. 

Though  I  saw  her  beauty  and  the  light  of  her  face, 
all  in  a  moment,  as  though  it  had  been  a  dream,  I 
saw  Nino  too;  for  I  had  missed  him,  and  had  sup 
posed  he  had  gone  to  the  organ  loft  with  De  Pretis. 
But  now,  as  the  people  kneeled  to  the  benediction, 
imagine  a  little  what  he  did!  He  just  dropped  on 
his  knees  with  his  face  to  the  white  lady,  and  his 
back  to  the  procession ;  it  was  really  disgraceful,  and 
if  it  had  been  lighter  I  am  sure  every  one  would  have 
noticed  it.  At  all  events,  there  he  knelt,  not  three 
feet  from  the  lady,  looking  at  her  as  if  his  heart  would 
break.  But  I  do  not  believe  she  saw  him,  for  she 
never  looked  his  way.  Afterwards  everybody  got  up 
again,  and  we  hurried  to  get  out  of  the  chapel ;  but 
I  noticed  that  the  tall  old  foreigner  gave  his  arm  to 
the  beautiful  lady,  and  when  they  had  pushed  their 
way  through  the  gate  that  leads  into  the  body  of  the 
church,  they  did  not  go  away,  but  stood  aside  for  the 
crowd  to  pass.  Nino  said  he  would  wait  for  De 
Pretis,  and  immediately  turned  his  whole  attention 
to  the  foreign  girl,  hiding  himself  in  the  shadow  and 
never  taking  his  eyes  from  her. 

I  never  saw  Nino  look  at  a  woman  before  as  though 
she  interested  him  in  the  least,  or  I  should  not  have 
been  surprised  now  to  see  him  lost  in  admiration  of 
the  fair  girl.  I  was  close  to  him  and  could  see  his 
fac.e-  and  it  had  a  new  expression  on  it  which  I  did 
dot  know.  The  people  were  almost  gone,  and  the 


20  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

lights  were  being  extinguished  when  De  Pretis  came 
round  the  corner,  looking  for  us.  But  I  was  aston 
ished  to  see  him  bow  low  to  the  foreigner  and  the 
young  lady,  and  then  stop  and  enter  into  conversa 
tion  with  them.  They  spoke  quite  audibly,  and  it 
was  about  a  lesson  which  the  young  lady  had  missed. 
She  spoke  like  a  Roman,  but  the  old  gentleman  made 
himself  understood  in  a  series  of  stiff  phrases,  which 
he  fired  out  of  his  mouth  like  discharges  of  mus 
ketry. 

"Who  are  they?"  whispered  Nino  to  me,  breath 
less  with  excitement,  and  trembling  from  head  to 
foot.  "Who  are  they,  and  how  does  the  maestro 
know  them? " 

"  Eh,  caro  mio,  what  am  I  to  know  ?  "  I  answered, 
indifferently.  "  They  are  some  foreigners,  some  pupil 
of  De  Pretis,  and  her  father.  How  should  I  know  ?  " 

"She  is  a  Roman,"  said  Nino  between  his  teeth. 
"I  have  heard  foreigners  talk.  The  old  man  is  a 
foreigner,  but  she  —  she  is  Roman,"  he  repeated  with 
certainty. 

"Eh,"  said  I,  "for  my  part  she  maybe  Chinese. 
The  stars  will  not  fall  on  that  account." 

You  see,  I  thought  he  had  seen  her  before,  and  I 
wanted  to  exasperate  him  by  my  indifference  so  that 
he  should  tell  me ;  but  he  would  not,  and  indeed  I 
found  out  afterwards  that  he  had  really  never  seen 
her  before. 

Presently  the  lady  and  gentleman  went  away,  and 
we  called  De  Pretis,  for  he  could  not  see  us  in  the 
gloom.  Nino  became  very  confidential,  and  linked 
an  arm  in  his  as  we  went  away. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  21 

"Who  are  they,  caro  maestro,  these  enchanting 
people?  "  inquired  the  boy  when  they  had  gone  a  few 
steps,  and  I  was  walking  by  Nino's  side,  and  we 
were  all  three  nearing  the  door. 

"Foreigners,  — ^my  foreigners,"  returned  the  sing 
er,  proudly,  as  he  took  a  colossal  pinch  of  snuff.  He 
seemed  to  say  that  he  in  his  profession  was  con 
stantly  thrown  with  people  like  that,  whereas  I  — 
oh,  I,  of  course,  was  always  occupied  with  students 
and  poor  devils  who  had  no  voice,  nothing  but 
brains. 

"But  she,"  objected  Nino,  — "she  is  Roman,  I  am 
sure  of  it." 

"Eh,"  said  Ercole,  "you  know  how  it  is.  These 
foreigners  marry  and  come  here  and  live,  and  their 
children  are  born  here ;  and  they  grow  up  and  call 
themselves  Romans,  as  proudly  as  you  please.  But 
they  are  not  really  Italians,  any  more  than  the  Shah 
of  Persia." 

The  maestro  smiled  a  pitying  smile.  He  is  a 
Roman  of  Rome,  and  his  great  nose  scorns  pretend 
ers.  In  his  view  Piedmontese,  Tuscans,  and  Nea 
politans  are  as  much  foreigners  as  the  Germans  or 
the  English.  More  so,  for  he  likes  the  Germans  and 
tolerates  the  English,  but  he  can  call  an  enemy  by 
no  worse  name  than  "Napoletano  "  or  "Piemontese." 

"  Then  they  live  here  ?  "  cried  Nino  in  delight. 

"Surely." 

"  In  fine,  maestro  mio,  who  are  they  ?  " 

"  What  a  diavolo  of  a  boy !  Dio  mio !  "  and  Ercole 
laughed  under  his  big  moustache,  which  is  black  still. 
But  he  is  bald,  all  the  same,  arid  wears  a  skull-cap. 


ZZ  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"  Diavolo  as  much  as  you  please,  but  I  will  know,*' 
said  Nino  sullenly. 

"Oh  bene!  Now  do  not  disquiet  yourself,  Nino 
—  I  will  tell  you  all  about  them.  She  is  a  pupil  of 
mine,  and  I  go  to  their  house  in  the  Corso  and  give 
her  lessons.'* 

"  And  then  ?  "  asked  Nino  impatiently. 

"  Who  goes  slowly  goes  surely,"  said  the  maestro 
sententiously;  and  he  stopped  to  light  a  cigar  as 
black  and  twisted  as  his  moustache.  Then  he  con 
tinued,  standing  still  in  the  middle  of  the  piazza  to 
talk  at  his  ease,  for  it  had  stopped  raining  and  the 
air  was  moist  and  sultry,  "  They  are  Prussians,  you 
must  know.  The  old  man  is  a  colonel,  retired,  pen 
sioned,  everything  you  like,  wounded  at  Koniggratz 
by  the  Austrians.  His  wife  was  delicate,  and  he 
brought  her  to  live  here  long  before  he  left  the  ser 
vice,  and  the  signorina  was  born  here.  He  has  told 
me  about  it,  and  he  taught  me  to  pronounce  the  name 
Koniggratz,  so  —  Conigherazzo,"  said  the  maestro 
proudly,  "and  that  is  how  I  know." 

"  Capperi !     What  a  mouthful !  "  said  I. 

"  You  may  well  say  that,  Sor  Conte,  but  singing 
teaches  us  all  languages.  You  would  have  found  it 
of  great  use  in  your  studies."  I  pictured  to  myself 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  Schopenhauer,  with  a  piano 
accompaniment  and  some  one  beating  time. 

"But  their  name,  their  name  I  want  to  know," 
objected  Nino,  as  he  stepped  aside  and  flattened  him 
self  against  the  pillar  to  let  a  carriage  pass.  As  luck 
would  have  it,  the  old  officer  and  his  daughter  were 
in  that  very  cab,  and  Nino  could  just  make  them  out 


A   ROMAN    SINGER.  23 

by  the  evening  twilight.     He  took  off  his  hat,  of 
course,  but  I  am  quite  sure  they  did  not  see  him. 

"Well,  their  name  is  prettier  than  Conigherazzo," 
said  Ercole.  "It  is  Lira  —  Erre  Gheraffe  fonne 
Lira."  Herr  Graf  von  Lira,  I  suppose  he  meant. 
And  he  has  the  impudence  to  assert  that  singing  has 
taught  him  to  pronounce  German.  "And  that 
means,"  he  continued,  "II  Conte  di  Lira,  as  we 
should  say." 

"Ah!  what  a  divine  appellation!  "  exclaimed  Nino 
enthusiastically,  pulling  his  hat  over  his  eyes  to 
meditate  upon  the  name  at  his  leisure. 

"And  her  name  is  Edvigia,"  volunteered  the 
maestro.  That  is  the  Italian  for  Hedwig,  or  Had- 
wig,  you  know.  But  we  should  shorten  it  and  call 
her  Gigia,  just  as  though  she  were  Luisa.  Nino 
does  not  think  it  so  pretty.  Nino  was  silent.  Per 
haps  he  was  already  shy  of  repeating  the  familiar 
name  of  the  first  woman  he  had  ever  loved.  Im 
agine!  At  twenty  he  had  never  been  in  love!  It  is 
incredible  to  me,  —  and  one  of  our  own  people,  too, 
born  at  Serveti. 

Meanwhile  the  maestro's  cigar  had  gone  out,  and 
he  lit  it  with  a  blazing  sulphur  match,  before  he  con 
tinued;  and  we  all  walked  on  again.  I  remember  it 
all  very  distinctly,  because  it  was  the  beginning  of 
Nino's  madness.  Especially  I  call  to  mind  his  ex 
pression  of  indifference  when  Ercole  began  to  des 
cant  upon  the  worldly  possessions  of  the  Lira 
household.  It  seemed  to  me  that  if  Nino  so  seri 
ously  cast  his  eyes  on  the  Contessina  Edvigia  he 
might  at  least  have  looked  pleased  to  hear  she  was 


24  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

so  rich ;  or  he  might  have  looked  disappointed,  if  he 
thought  that  her  position  was  an  obstacle  in  his  way. 
But  he  did  not  care  about  it  at  all,  and  walked 
straight  on,  humming  a  little  tune  through  his  nose 
with  his  mouth  shut,  for  he  does  everything  to  a 
tune. 

"They  are  certainly  gran'  signori,"  Ercole  said. 
"They  live  on  the  first  floor  of  the  Palazzo  Car- 
mandola,  — you  know,  in  the  Corso,  — and  they  have 
a  carriage,  and  keep  two  men  in  livery,  just  like  a 
Roman  prince.  Besides,  the  count  once  sent  me  a 
bottle  of  wine  at  Christmas.  It  was  as  weak  as 
water,  and  tasted  like  the  solfatara  of  Tivoli,  but  it 
came  from  his  own  vineyard  in  Germany,  and  was  at 
least  fifty  years  old.  If  he  has  a  vineyard,  he  has  a 
castello,  of  course.  And  if  he  has  a  castello,  he  is  a 
gran'  signore,  — eh?  what  do  you  think,  Sor  Conte? 
You  know  about  such  things." 

"I  did  once,  maestro  mio.     It  is  very  likely." 

"  And  as  for  the  wine  being  sour,  it  was  because  it 
was  so  old.  I  am  sure  the  Germans  cannot  make 
wine  well.  They  are  not  used  to  drinking  it  good, 
or  they  would  not  drink  so  much  when  they  come 
here."  We  were  crossing  the  bridge,  and  nearing 
Ercole's  house. 

"Maestro,"  said  Nino,  suddenly.  He  had  not 
spoken  for  some  time,  and  he  had  finished  his  tune. 

"Well?" 

"Is  not  to-morrow  our  day  for  studying?" 

"Diavolo!  I  gave  you  two  hours  to-day.  Have 
you  forgotten  ?  " 

"Ah,  — it  is  true.     But  give  me  a  lesson  to-mor- 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  25 

row,  like  a  good  maestro  as  you  are.  I  will  sing  like 
an  angel,  if  you  will  give  me  a  lesson  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  if  you  like  to  come  at  seven  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  if  you  promise  to  sing  nothing  but  solfeggi 
of  Bordogni  for  an  hour,  and  not  to  strain  your 
voice,  nor  put  too  much  vinegar  in  your  salad  at 
supper,  I  will  think  about  it.  Does  that  please  you  ? 
Conte,  do  not  let  him  eat  too  much  vinegar." 

"I  will  do  all  that,  if  I  may  come,"  said  Nino, 
readily,  though  he  would  rather  not  sing  at  all,  at 
most  times,  than  sing  Bordogni,  De  Pretis  tells  me. 

"  Meglio  cosl,  —  so  much  the  better.  Good-night, 
Sor  Conte.  Good-night,  Nino."  And  so  he  turned 
down  the  Via  Paola,  and  Nino  and  I  went  our  way. 
I  stopped  to  buy  a  cigar  at  the  little  tobacco  shop 
just  opposite  the  Tordinona  Theatre.  They  used  to 
be  only  a  baiocco  apiece,  and  I  could  get  one  at  a 
time.  But  now  they  are  two  for  three  baiocchi;  and 
so  I  have  to  get  two  always,  because  there  are  no 
half  baiocchi  any  more  —  nothing  but  centimes. 
That  is  one  of  the  sources  of  my  extravagance. 
Mariuccia  says  I  am  miserly ;  she  was  born  poor,  and 
never  had  to  learn  the  principles  of  economy. 

"Nino  mio,"  I  said,  as  we  went  along,  "you 
really  make  me  laugh." 

"  Which  is  to  say  "  —  He  was  humming  a  tune 
again,  and  was  cross  because  I  interrupted  him. 

"You  are  in  love.  Do  not  deny  it.  You  are 
already  planning  how  you  can  make  the  acquaintance 
of  the  foreign  contessa.  You  are  a  fool.  Go  home, 
and  get  Mariuccia  to  give  you  some  syrup  of  tama 
rind  to  cool  your  blood." 


26  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"Well?  Now  tell  me,  were  you  never  in  Jove 
with  any  one  yourself?"  he  asked,  by  way  of  an 
swer;  and  I  could  see  the  fierce  look  come  into  his 
eyes  in  the  dark,  as  he  said  it. 

"  Altro,  —  that  is  why  I  laugh  at  you.  When  I 
was  your  age  I  had  been  in  love  twenty  times. 
But  I  never  fell  in  love  at  first  sight  —  and  with  a 
doll ;  really  a  wax  doll,  you  know,  like  the  Madonna 
in  the  presepio  that  they  set  up  at  the  Ara  Coeli,  at 
Epiphany." 

"A  doll!"  he  cried.  "Who  is  a  doll,  if  you 
please  ?  "  We  stopped  at  the  corner  of  the  street  to 
argue  it  out. 

"Do  you  think  she  is  really  alive?"  I  asked, 
laughing.  Nino  disdained  to  answer  me,  but  he 
looked  savagely  from  under  the  brim  of  his  hat. 
"Look  here,"  I  continued,  "women  like  that  are 
only  made  to  be  looked  at.  They  never  love,  for 
they  have  no  hearts.  It  is  lucky  if  they  have  souls, 
like  Christians." 

"I  will  tell  you  what  I  think,"  said  he  stoutly; 
"she  is  an  angel." 

"  Oh !  is  that  all  ?  Did  you  ever  hear  of  an  angel 
being  married?" 

"You  shall  hear  of  it,  Sor  Cornelio,  and  before 
long.  I  swear  to  you,  here,  that  I  will  marry  the 
Contessina  di  Lira  —  if  that  is  her  name  —  before 
two  years  are  out.  Ah,  you  do  not  believe  me. 
Very  well.  I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

"My  dear  son,"  said  I,  — for  he  is  a  son  to  me,  — • 
"you  are  talking  nonsense.  How  can  anybody  in 
your  position  hope  to  marry  a  great  lady,  who  is  an 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  27 

heiress  ?  Is  it  not  true  that  it  is  all  stuff  and  non 
sense?" 

"No,  it  is  not  true,"  cried  Nino,  setting  his  square 
jaw  like  a  bit  and  speaking  through  his  teeth.  "  I 
am  ugly,  you  say ;  I  am  dark,  and  I  have  no  position, 
or  wealth,  or  anything  of  the  kind.  I  am  the  son  of 
a  peasant  and  of  a  peasant's  wife.  I  am  anything 
you  please,  but  I  will  marry  her  if  I  say  I  will.  Do 
you  think  it  is  for  nothing  that  you  have  taught  me 
the  language  of  Dante,  of  Petrarca,  of  Silvio  Pellico? 
Do  you  think  it  is  for  nothing  that  Heaven  has  given 
me  my  voice  ?  Do  not  the  angels  love  music,  and 
cannot  I  make  as  good  songs  as  they  ?  Or  do  you 
think  that  because  I  am  bred  a  singer  my  hand  is  not 
as  strong  as  a  fine  gentleman's  —  contadino  as  I  am? 
I  will  —  I  will  and  I  will.  Basta ! " 

I  never  saw  him  look  like  that  before.  He  had 
folded  his  arms,  and  he  nodded  his  head  a  little  at 
each  repetition  of  the  word,  looking  at  me  so  hard, 
as  we  stood  under  the  gas  lamp  in  the  street,  that  I 
was  obliged  to  turn  my  eyes  away.  He  stared  me 
out  of  countenance  —  he,  a  peasant  boy  I  Then  we 
walked  on. 

"  And  as  for  her  being  a  wax  doll,  as  you  call  her, " 
he  continued,  after  a  little  time,  "  that  is  nonsense, 
if  you  wish  the  word  to  be  used.  Truly,  a  doll! 
And  the  next  minute  you  compare  her  to  the  Ma 
donna!  I  am  sure  she  has  a  heart  as  big  as  this," 
and  he  stretched  out  his  hands  into  the  air.  "  I  can 
see  it  in  her  eyes.  Ah,  what  eyes !  " 

I  saw  it  was  of  no  use  to  argue  on  that  tack,  and 
I  felt  quite  sure  that  he  would  forget  all  about  it, 


28  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

though  he  looked  so  determined,  and  talked  so 
grandly  about  his  will. 

"Nino,"  I  said,  "I  am  older  than  you."  I  said 
this  to  impress  him,  of  course,  for  I  am  not  really  so 
very  old. 

"  Diamini !  "  he  cried  impertinently,  "  I  believe  it!  " 

"Well,  well,  do  not  be  impatient.  I  have  seen 
something  in  my  time,  and  I  tell  you  those  foreign 
women  are  not  like  ours,  a  whit.  I  fell  in  love, 
once,  with  a  northern  fairy,  —  she  was  not  German, 
but  she  came  from  Lombardy,  you  see,  —  and  that  is 
the  reason  why  I  lost  Serveti  and  all  the  rest." 

"But  I  have  no  Serveti  to  lose,"  objected  Nino. 

"  You  have  a  career  as  a  musician  to  lose.  It  is 
not  much  of  a  career,  to  be  stamping  about  with 
a  lot  of  figuranti  and  scene-shifters,  and  screaming 
yourself  hoarse  every  night."  I  was  angry,  because 
he  laughed  at  my  age.  "But  it  is  a  career,  after 
all,  which  you  have  chosen  for  yourself.  If  you  get 
mixed  up  in  an  intrigue  now,  you  may  ruin  yourself. 
I  hope  you  will." 

"Grazie!     And  then?" 

"  Eh,  it  might  not  be  such  a  bad  thing,  after  all. 
For  if  you  could  be  induced  to  give  up  the  stage  "  — 

"I  —  I,  give  up  singing?"  he  cried,  indignantly. 

"  Oh,  such  things  happen,  you  know.  If  you  were 
to  give  it  up,  as  I  was  saying,  you  might  then  pos 
sibly  use  your  mind.  A  mind  is  a  much  better  thing 
than  a  throat,  after  all." 

"Ebbene!  talk  as  much  as  you  please,  for,  of 
course,  you  have  the  right,  since  you  have  brought 
me  up,  and  you  have  certainly  opposed  my  singing 


A  ROMAN   SDTGEK.  29 

enough  to  quiet  your  conscience.  But,  dear  profes- 
sore,  I  will  do  all  that  I  say,  and  if  you  will  give  me 
a  little  help  in  this  matter  you  shall  not  repent  it.'* 

"Help?  Dio  mio!  What  do  you  take  me  for? 
As  if  I  could  help  you,  or  would !  I  suppose  you 
want  money  to  make  yourself  a  dandy,  a  pamo,  to 
go  and  stand  at  the  corner  of  the  Piazza  Colonna  and 
ogle  her  as  she  goes  by!  In  truth!  You  have  fine 
projects." 

"No,"  said  Nino,  quietly,  "I  do  not  want  any 
money,  nor  anything  else,  at  present,  thank  you. 
And  do  not  be  angry,  but  come  into  the  caff£  and 
drink  some  lemonade;  and  I  will  invite  you  to  it, 
for  I  have  been  paid  for  my  last  copying,  which  I 
sent  in  yesterday." 

He  put  his  arm  in  mine,  and  we  went  in.  There 
is  no  resisting  Nino,  when  he  is  affectionate.  But 
I  would  not  let  him  pay  for  the  lemonade.  I  paid 
for  it  myself.  What  extravagance ! 


30  A  KOMAN   SINGER. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Now  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  many  things  in  this 
story  were  only  told  me  quite  lately ;  for  at  first  1 
would  not  help  Nino  at  all,  thinking  it  was  but  a 
foolish  fancy  of  his  boy's  heart  and  would  soon  pass. 
I  have  tried  to  gather  arid  to  order  all  the  different 
incidents  into  one  harmonious  whole,  so  that  you  can 
follow  the  story ;  and  you  must  not  wonder  that  I  can 
describe  some  things  which  I  did  not  see,  and  that  I 
know  how  some  of  the  people  felt;  for  Nino  and  I 
have  talked  over  the  whole  matter  very  often,  and 
the  baroness  came  here  and  told  me  her  share,  though 
I  wonder  how  she  could  talk  so  plainly  of  what  must 
have  given  her  so  much  pain.  But  it  was  very  kind 
of  her  to  come;  and  she  sat  over  there  in  the  old 
green  arm-chair,  by  the  glass  case  which  has  the  arti 
ficial  flowers  under  it,  and  the  sugar  lamb  the  padre 
curato  gave  Nino  when  he  made  his  first  communion 
at  Easter.  However,  it  is  not  time  to  speak  of  the 
baroness  yet,  but  I  cannot  forget  her. 

Nino  was  very  amusing  when  he  began  to  love  the 
young  countess,  and  the  very  first  morning  —  the  day 
after  we  had  been  to  St.  Peter's  —  he  went  out  at 
half  past  six,  though  it  was  only  just  sunrise,  for  we 
were  in  October.  I  knew  very  well  that  he  was 
going  for  his  extra  lesson  with  De  Pretis,  but  I  had 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  31 

nothing  to  say  about  it,  and  I  only  recommended  him 
to  cover  himself  well,  for  the  scirocco  had  passed  and 
it  was  a  bright  morning,  with  a  clear  tramontana 
wind  blowing  fresh  from  the  north.  I  can  always 
tell  when  it  is  a  tramontana  wind,  before  I  open  my 
window,  for  Mariuccia  makes  such  a  clattering  with 
the  coffee-pot  in  the  kitchen,  and  the  goldfinch  in 
the  sitting-room  sings  very  loud;  which  he  never 
does  if  it  is  cloudy.  Nino,  then,  went  off  to  Maestro 
Ercole's  house  for  his  singing,  and  this  is  what  hap 
pened  there. 

De  Pretis  knew  perfectly  well  that  Nino  had  only 
asked  for  the  extra  lesson  in  order  to  get  a  chance 
of  talking  about  the  Contessina  di  Lira,  and  so,  to 
tease  him,  as  soon  as  he  appeared,  the  maestro  made 
a  great  bustle  about  singing  scales,  and  insisted  upon 
beginning  at  once.  Moreover,  he  pretended  to  be  in 
a  bad  humour ;  and  that  is  always  pretense  with  him. 

"Ah,  my  little  tenor,"  he  began;  "you  want  a  les 
son  at  seven  in  the  morning,  do  you  ?  That  is  the 
time  when  all  the  washerwomen  sing  at  the  foun 
tain  I  Well,  you  shall  have  a  lesson,  and  by  the 
body  of  Bacchus  it  shall  be  a  real  lesson!  Now, 
then !  Andiamo  —  Do-o-o !  "  and  he  roared  out  a 
great  note  that  made  the  room  shake,  and  a  man  who 
was  selling  cabbage  in  the  street  stopped  his  hand 
cart  and  mimicked  him  for  five  minutes. 

"  But  I  am  out  of  breath,  maestro,"  protested  Nino, 
who  wanted  to  talk. 

"  Out  of  breath  ?  A  singer  is  never  out  of  breath. 
Absurd!  What  would  you  do  if  you  got  out  of 
breath,  say,  in  the  last  act  of  Lucia,  so  —  Bell'  alma 


32  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

ado  —  Then  your  breath  ends,  eh  ?  Will  you  stay 
with  the  *  adored  soul '  between  your  teeth?  A  fine 
singer  you  will  make !  Andiamo !  Do-o-o !  " 

Nino  saw  he  must  begin,  and  he  set  up  a  shout, 
much  against  his  will,  so  that  the  cabbage-vender 
chimed  in,  making  so  much  noise  that  the  old  woman 
who  lives  opposite  opened  her  window  and  emptied 
a  great  dustpan  full  of  potato  peelings  and  refuse 
leaves  of  lettuce  right  on  his  head.  And  then  there 
was  a  great  noise.  But  the  maestro  paid  no  atten 
tion,  and  went  on  with  the  scale,  hardly  giving  Nino 
time  to  breathe.  Nino,  who  stood  behind  De  Pretis 
while  he  sang,  saw  the  copy  of  Bordogni's  solfeggi 
lying  on  a  chair,  and  managed  to  slip  it  under  a  pile 
of  music  near  by,  singing  so  lustily  all  the  while 
that  the  maestro  never  looked  round. 

When  he  got  to  the  end  of  the  scale,  Ercole  began 
hunting  for  the  music,  and  as  he  could  not  find  it 
Nino  asked  him  questions. 

"  Can  she  sing,  —  this  contessina  of  yours,  maes 
tro  ?  "  De  Pretis  was  overturning  everything  in  his 
search. 

"  An  apoplexy  on  those  solfeggi  and  on  the  man 
who  made  them!"  he  cried.  "Sing,  did  you  say? 
Yes,  a  great  deal  better  than  you  ever  will.  Why 
can  you  not  look  for  your  music,  instead  of  chatter 
ing?"  Nino  began  to  look  where  he  knew  it  was 
not. 

"By  the  bye,  do  you  give  her  lessons  every  day?" 
asked  the  boy. 

"Every  day?  Am  I  crazy,  to  ruin  people's  voices 
like  that?" 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  33 

"  Caro  maestro,  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  this 
morning  ?  You  have  forgotten  to  say  your  prayers !  " 

"  You  are  a  donkey,  Nino ;  here  he  is,  this  blessed 
Bordogni, — now,  come." 

"Sor  Ercole  mio,"  said  Nino  in  despair,  "I  must 
really  know  something  about  this  angel,  before  I  sing 
at  all." 

Ercole  sat  down  on  the  piano  stool,  and  puffed  up 
his  cheeks,  and  heaved  a  tremendous  sigh,  to  show 
how  utterly  bored  he  was  by  his  pupil.  Then  he 
took  a  large  pinch  of  snuff,  and  sighed  again. 

"What  demon  have  you  got  into  your  head?"  he 
asked,  at  length. 

"What  angel,  you  mean,"  answered  Nino,  de 
lighted  at  having  forced  the  maestro  to  a  parley.  "  I 
am  in  love  with  her  —  crazy  about  her,"  he  cried, 
running  his  fingers  through  his  curly  hair,  "  and  you 
must  help  me  to  see  her.  You  can  easily  take  me  to 
her  house  to  sing  duets,  as  part  of  her  lesson.  I  tell 
you  I  have  not  slept  a  wink  all  night  for  thinking  of 
her,  and  unless  I  see  her  I  shall  never  sleep  again  as 
long  as  I  live.  Ah ! "  he  cried,  putting  his  hands 
on  Ercole's  shoulders,  "you  do  not  know  what  it  is 
to  be  in  love !  How  everything  one  touches  is  fire, 
and  the  sky  is  like  lead,  and  one  minute  you  are  cold 
and  one  minute  you  are  hot,  and  you  may  turn  and 
turn  on  your  pillow  all  night,  and  never  sleep,  and 
you  want  to  curse  everybody  you  see,  or  to  embrace 
them,  it  makes  no  difference  —  anything  to  express 
the"  — 

"Devil,  and  may  he  carry  you  off!"  interrupted 
Ercole,  laughing.  But  his  manner  changed.  "Poor 


34  A    HOMAN   SINGER. 

fellow,"  he  said  presently,  "it  appears  to  me  you  are 
in  love." 

"  It  appears  to  you,  does  it  ?  '  Appears  '  —  a  beau 
tiful  word,  in  faith.  I  can  tell  you  it  appears  to 
me  so,  too.  Ah !  it  '  appears  '  to  you  —  very  good 
indeed!  "  and  Nino  waxed  wroth. 

"I  will  give  you  some  advice,  Ninetto  mio.  Do 
not  fall  in  love  with  any  one.  It  always  ends 
badly." 

"You  come  late  with  your  counsel,  Sor  Ercole. 
In  truth,  a  very  good  piece  of  advice,  when  a  man  is 
fifty,  and  married,  and  wears  a  skull-cap.  When  I 
wear  a  skull-cap  and  take  snuff,  I  will  follow  your 
instructions."  He  walked  up  and  down  the  room, 
grinding  his  teeth  and  clapping  his  hands  together. 
Ercole  rose  and  stopped  him. 

"Let  us  talk  seriously,"  he  said. 

"With  all  my  heart;  as  seriously  as  you  please." 

"You  have  only  seen  this  signorina  once." 

"  Once !  "  cried  Nino,  —  "  as  if  once  were  not "  — 

"Diavolo!  let  me  speak.  You  have  only  seen  her 
once.  She  is  noble,  an  heiress,  a  great  lady  —  worse 
than  all,  a  foreigner;  as  beautiful  as  a  statue,  if  you 
please,  but  twice  as  cold.  She  has  a  father  who 
knows  the  proprieties,  a  piece  of  iron,  I  tell  you, 
who  would  kill  you  just  as  he  would  drink  a  glass 
of  wine,  with  the  greatest  indifference,  if  he  sus 
pected  you  lifted  your  eyes  to  his  daughter." 

"I  do  not  believe  your  calumnies,"  said  Nino, 
still  hotly.  "She  is  not  cold,  and  if  I  can  see  her 
she  will  listen  to  me.  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  We  will  speak  of  that  by  and  by.     You  —  what 


A  KOMAN   SINGER.  35 

are  you  ?  Nothing  but  a  singer,  who  has  not  even 
appeared  before  the  public,  without  a  baiocco  in  the 
world,  nor  anything  else  but  your  voice.  You  are 
not  even  handsome." 

"What  difference  does  that  make  to  a  woman  oi 
heart? "  retorted  Nino  angrily.  "Let  me  only  speak 
to  her"— 

"  A  thousand  devils ! "  exclaimed  De  Pretis,  impa 
tiently  ;  "  what  good  can  you  do  by  speaking  to  her  ? 
Are  you  Dante,  or  Petrarca,  or  a  preacher  —  what 
are  you  ?  Do  you  think  you  can  have  a  great  lady's 
hand  for  the  asking?  Do  you  flatter  yourself  you 
are  so  eloquent  that  nobody  can  withstand  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Nino  boldly.  "If  I  could  only  speak 
to  her  "  — 

"Then,  in  Heaven's  name,  go  and  speak  to  her. 
Get  a  new  hat  and  a  pair  of  lavender  gloves,  and 
walk  about  the  Villa  Borghese  until  you  meet  her, 
and  then  throw  yourself  on  your  knees  and  kiss  her 
feet,  and  the  dust  from  her  shoes ;  and  say  you  are 
dying  for  her,  and  will  she  be  good  enough  to  walk 
so  far  as  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo  and  be  married  to 
you !  That  is  all ;  you  see  it  is  nothing  you  ask  —  a 
mere  politeness  on  her  part  —  oh,  nothing,  nothing." 
And  De  Pretis  rubbed  his  hands  and  smiled,  and  see 
ing  that  Nino  did  not  answer,  he  blew  his  nose  with 
his  great  blue  cotton  handkerchief. 

"You  have  no  heart  at  all,  maestro,"  said  Nino  at 
last.  "Let  us  sing." 

They  worked  hard  at  Bordogni  for  half  an  hour, 
and  Nino  did  not  open  his  mouth  except  to  produce 
the  notes.  But  as  his  blood  was  up  from  the  pre- 


36  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

ceding  interview  he  took  great  pains,  and  Ercole, 
who  makes  him  sing  all  the  solfeggi  he  can  from  a 
sense  of  duty,  himself  wearied  of  the  ridiculous  old- 
fashioned  runs  and  intervals. 

"Bene,"  he  said;  "let  us  sing  a  piece  now,  and 
then  you  will  have  done  enough."  He  put  an  opera 
on  the  piano,  and  Nino  lifted  up  his  voice  and  sang, 
only  too  glad  to  give  his  heart  passage  to  his  lips. 
Ercole  screwed  up  his  eyes  with  a  queer  smile  he 
has  when  he  is  pleased. 

"Capperi!  "  he  ejaculated,  when  Nino  had  done. 

"What  has  happened?"  asked  the  latter. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  what  has  happened,"  said 
Ercole,  "but  I  will  tell  you  that  you  had  better 
always  sing  like  that,  and  you  will  be  applauded. 
Why  have  you  never  sung  that  piece  in  that  way 
before?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  am  un 
happy." 

"  Very  well,  never  dare  to  be  happy  again,  if  you 
mean  to  succeed.  You  can  make  a  statue  shed  tears 
if  you  please." 

Ercole  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  turned  round  to 
look  out  of  the  window.  Nino  leaned  on  the  piano, 
drumming  with  his  fingers  and  looking  at  the  back 
of  the  maestro 's  head.  The  first  rays  of  the  sun 
just  fell  into  the  room  and  gilded  the  red  brick 
floor. 

"Then  instead  of  buying  lavender  kid  gloves," 
said  Nino  at  last,  his  face  relaxing  a  little,  "and 
going  to  the  Villa  Borghese,  you  advise  me  to  bor 
row  a  guitar  and  sing  to  my  statue ?  Is  that  it? " 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  37 

"  Che  Diana !  I  did  not  say  that !  "  said  Ercole, 
still  facing  the  window  and  finishing  his  pinch  of 
snuff  with  a  certain  satisfaction.  "But  if  you  want 
the  guitar,  take  it, — there  it  lies.  I  will  not  an 
swer  for  what  you  do  with  it. " 

His  voice  sounded  kindly,  for  he  was  so  much 
pleased.  Then  he  made  Nino  sing  again,  a  little 
love  song  of  Tosti,  who  writes  for  the  heart  and  sings 
so  much  better  without  a  voice  than  all  your  stage 
tenors  put  together.  And  the  maestro  looked  long 
at  Nino  when  he  had  done,  but  he  did  not  say  any 
thing.  Nino  put  on  his  hat,  gloomily  enough,  and 
prepared  to  go. 

"I  will  take  the  guitar,  if  you  will  lend  it  to  me," 
he  said. 

"  Yes,  if  you  like,  and  I  will  give  you  a  handker 
chief  to  wrap  it  up  with,"  said  De  Pretis,  absently, 
but  he  did  not  get  up  from  his  seat.  He  was  watch 
ing  Nino,  and  he  seemed  to  be  thinking.  Just  as 
the  boy  was  going  with  the  instrument  under  his 
arm,  he  called  him  back. 

"Ebbene?"  said  Nino,  with  his  hand  on  the  lock 
of  the  door. 

"I  will  make  you  a  song  to  sing  to  your  guitar," 
said  Ercole. 

"You?" 

"Yes  —  but  without  music.  Look  here,  Nino  — 
sit  down.  What  a  hurry  you  are  in!  I  was  young 
myself,  once  upon  a  time." 

"  Once  upon  a  time !  Fairy  stories  —  once  upon  a 
time  there  was  a  king,  and  so  on."  Nino  was  not 
to  be  easily  pacified. 


38  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  is  a  fairy  tale,  but  it  is  in  the 
future.  I  have  an  idea." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  But  it  is  perhaps  the  first  time* 
I  understand." 

"  Listen.     Have  you  read  Dante  ?  " 

"  I  know  the  Vita  Nuova  by  heart,  and  some  of  the 
Commedia.  But  how  the  diavolo  does  Dante  enter 
into  this  question?" 

"  And  Silvio  Pellico,  and  a  little  literature  ?  "  con 
tinued  Ercole,  not  heeding  the  comment. 

"Yes,  after  a  fashion.  And  you?  Do  you  know 
them?" 

"  Che  c'entro  io  ?  "  cried  Ercole  impatiently ;  "  what 
do  I  want  to  know  such  things  for?  But  I  have 
heard  of  them." 

"I  congratulate  you,"  replied  Nino  ironically. 

"Have  patience.  You  are  no  longer  an  artist. 
You  are  a  professor  of  literature." 

"I  —  a  professor  of  literature ?  What  nonsense  are 
you  talking?" 

"  You  are  a  great  stupid  donkey,  Nino.  Suppos 
ing  I  obtain  for  you  an  engagement  to  read  literature 
with  the  Contessina  di  Lira,  will  you  not  be  a  pro 
fessor?  If  you  prefer  singing"-  But  Nino  co  i- 
prehended  in  a  flash  the  whole  scope  of  the  proposal, 
and  threw  his  arms  round  Ercole's  neck  and  embraced 
him. 

"  What  a  mind !  Oh,  maestro  mio,  I  will  die  for 
you !  Command  me,  and  I  will  do  anything  for  you ; 
I  will  run  errands  for  you,  black  your  boots,  any 
thing  "  —  he  cried  in  the  ecstasy  of  delight  that  over 
mastered  him. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  39 

"Piano,  piano,"  objected  the  maestro,  disengaging 
himself  from  his  pupil's  embrace.  "  It  is  not  done 
yet.  There  is  much,  much  to  think  of  first." 

Nino  retreated,  a  little  disconcerted  at  not  finding 
his  enthusiasm  returned,  but  radiant  still. 

"Calm  yourself,"  said  Ercole,  smiling.  "If  you 
do  this  thing,  you  must  act  a  part.  You  must  man 
age  to  conceal  your  occupation  entirely.  You  must 
look  as  solemn  as  an  undertaker  and  be  a  real  profes 
sor.  They  will  ultimately  find  you  out,  and  throw 
you  out  of  the  window,  and  dismiss  me  for  recom 
mending  you.  But  that  is  nothing." 

"No,"  said  Nino,  "that  is  of  no  importance." 
And  he  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  and  looked 
delighted. 

"You  shall  know  all  about  it  this  evening,  or 
to-morrow  "  — 

"This  evening,  Sor  Ercole,  this  evening,  or  I 
shall  die.  Stay,  let  me  go  to  the  house  with  you, 
when  you  give  your  lesson,  and  wait  for  you  at  the 
door." 

"  Pumpkin-head !  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
you,"  said  De  Pretis. 

"  Ah,  I  will  be  as  quiet  as  you  please.  I  will  be 
like  a  lamb,  and  wait  until  this  evening." 

"  If  you  will  really  be  quiet,  I  will  do  what  you 
wish.  Come  to  me  this  evening,  about  the  Ave 
Maria  —  or  a  little  earlier.  Yes,  come  at  twenty- 
three  hours."  In  October  that  is  about  five  o'clock, 
by  French  time. 

"And  I  may  take  the  guitar?"  said  Nino,  as  he 
rose  to  go. 


40  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

"  With  all  my  heart.  But  do  not  spoil  everything 
by  singing  to  her,  and  betraying  yourself." 

So  Nino  thanked  the  maestro  enthusiastically  and 
went  away,  humming  a  tune,  as  he  now  and  again 
struck  the  strings  of  the  guitar  he  carried  under  his 
arm,  to  be  sure  it  was  there. 

Do  not  think,  because  De  Pretis  suddenly  changed 
his  mind,  and  even  proposed  to  Nino  a  plan  for  mak 
ing  the  acquaintance  of  the  young  countess,  that  he 
is  a  man  to  veer  about  like  a  weather-cock,  nor  yet  a 
bad  man,  willing  to  help  a  boy  to  do  mischief.  That 
is  not  at  all  like  Ercole  de  Pretis.  He  has  since  told 
me  he  was  much  astonished  at  the  way  Nino  sang  the 
love  song  at  his  lesson ;  and  he  was  instantly  con 
vinced  that  in  order  to  be  a  great  artist  Nino  must  be 
in  love  always.  Besides,  the  maestro  is  as  liberal  in 
his  views  of  life  as  he  is  conservative  in  his  ideas 
about  government.  Nino  is  everything  the  most 
strait-laced  father  could  wish  him  to  be,  and  as  he 
was  then  within  a  few  months  of  making  his  first 
appearance  on  the  stage,  De  Pretis,  who  understands 
those  things,  could  very  well  foresee  the  success  he 
has  had.  Now  De  Pretis  is  essentially  a  man  of  the 
people,  and  I  am  not;  therefore  he  saw  no  objection 
in  the  way  of  a  match  between  a  great  singer  and  a 
noble  damigella.  But  had  I  known  what  was  going 
on,  I  would  have  stopped  the  whole  affair  at  that 
point,  for  I  am  not  so  weak  as  Mariuccia  seems  to 
think.  I  do  not  mean  now  that  everything  is  set 
tled  that  I  should  wish  it  undone.  Heaven  forbid! 
But  I  would  have  stopped  it  then,  for  it  is  a  most 
incongruous  thing,  a  peasant  boy  making  love  to  a 
countess. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  41 

Nino,  however,  has  one  great  fault,  and  that  is  his 
reticence.  It  is  true,  he  never  does  anything  he 
would  not  like  me,  or  all  the  world,  to  know.  But 
1  should  like  to  know,  all  the  same.  It  is  a  habit 
I  have  fallen  into,  from  having  to  watch  that  old 
woman,  for  fear  she  should  be  too  extravagant.  All 
that  time  he  never  said  anything,  and  I  supposed  he 
had  forgotten  all  about  the  contessina,  for  I  did  not 
chance  to  see  De  Pretis ;  and  when  I  did,  he  talked 
of  nothing  but  Nino's  d£but  and  the  arrangements 
which  were  to  be  made.  So  that  I  knew  nothing 
about  it,  though  I  was  pleased  to  see  him  reading 
so  much.  He  took  a  sudden  fancy  for  literature, 
and  read  when  he  was  not  singing,  and  even  made 
me  borrow  Ambrosoli,  in  several  volumes,  from  a 
friend.  He  read  every  word  of  it,  and  talked  very 
intelligently  about  it,  too.  I  never  thought  there 
was  any  reason. 

But  De  Pretis  thinks  differently.  He  believes 
that  a  man  may  be  the  son  of  a  ciociaro  —  a  fellow 
who  ties  his  legs  up  in  rags  and  thongs,  and  lives 
on  goats'  milk  in  the  mountains  —  and  that  if  he  has 
brains  enough,  or  talent  enough,  he  may  marry  any 
woman  he  likes  without  ever  thinking  whether  she 
is  noble  or  not.  De  Pretis  must  be  old-fashioned, 
for  I  am  sure  I  do  not  think  in  that  way,  and  I  know 
a  hundred  times  as  much  as  he  —  a  hundred  times. 

I  suppose  it  must  have  been  the  very  day  when 
Nino  had  been  to  De  Pretis  in  the  morning,  that  he 
had  instructions  to  go  to  the  house  of  Count  von  Lira 
on 'the  morrow;  for  I  remember  very  well  that  Nino 
acted  strangely  in  the  evening,  singing  and  making 


42  A  KOMAN   SINGEK. 

a  noise  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  burying  himself 
in  a  book.  However  that  may  be,  it  was  very  soon 
afterwards  that  he  went  to  the  Palazzo  Carmandola, 
dressed  in  his  best  clothes,  he  tells  me,  in  order  to 
make  a  favourable  impression  on  the  count.  The 
latter  had  spoken  to  De  Pretis  about  the  lessons  in 
literature,  to  which  he  attached  great  importance, 
and  the  maestro  had  turned  the  idea  to  account  for 
his  pupil.  But  Nino  did  not  expect  to  see  the  young 
contessa  on  this  first  day,  or  at  least  he  did  not  hope 
he  should  be  able  to  speak  to  her.  And  so  it  turned 
out. 

The  footman,  who  had  a  red  waistcoat  and  opened 
the  door  with  authority,  as  if  ready  to  close  it  again 
on  the  smallest  provocation,  did  not  frighten  Nino 
at  all,  though  he  eyed  him  suspiciously  enough,  and 
after  ascertaining  his  business  departed  to  announce 
him  to  the  count.  Meanwhile  Nino,  who  was  very 
much  excited  at  the  idea  of  being  under  the  same 
roof  with  the  object  of  his  adoration,  sat  himself 
down  on  one  of  the  carved  chests  ranged  round  the 
hall.  The  green  baize  door  at  the  other  end  swung 
noiselessly  on  its  hinges,  closing  itself  behind  the 
servant,  and  the  boy  was  left  alone.  He  might  well 
be  frightened,  if  not  at  the  imposing  appearance  of 
the  footman,  at  least  at  the  task  he  had  undertaken. 
But  a  boy  like  Nino  is  afraid  of  nothing,  when  he  is 
in  love,  and  he  simply  looked  about  him,  realising 
that  he  was  without  doubt  in  the  house  of  a  gran* 
signore,  and  from  time  to  time  brushing  a  particle  of 
dust  from  his  clothes,  or  trying  to  smooth  his  cm  \y 
black  hair,  which  he  had  caused  to  be  clipped  a  littJe 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  43 

for  the  occasion;  a  very  needless  expense,  for  he 
looks  better  with  his  hair  long. 

Before  many  moments  the  servant  returned,  and 
with  some  condescension  said  that  the  count  awaited 
him.  Nino  would  rather  have  faced  the  mayor,  or 
the  king  himself,  than  Graf  von  Lira,  though  he 
was  not  at  all  frightened  —  he  was  only  very  much 
excited,  and  he  strove  to  calm  himself,  as  he  was 
ushered  through  the  apartments  to  the  small  sitting- 
room,  where  he  was  expected. 

Graf  von  Lira,  as  I  have  already  told  you,  is  a 
foreigner  of  rank,  who  had  been  a  Prussian  colonel, 
and  was  wounded  in  the  war  of  1866.  He  is  very 
tall,  very  thin,  and  very  grey,  with  wooden  features 
and  a  huge  moustache  which  stands  out  like  the  beaks 
on  the  colonna  rostrata.  His  eyes  are  small  and  very 
far  apart,  and  fix  themselves  with  terrible  severity 
when  he  speaks,  even  if  he  is  only  saying  "good- 
morning."  His  nails  are  very  long  and  most  care 
fully  kept,  and  though  he  is  so  lame  that  he  could 
not  move  a  step  without  the  help  of  his  stick,  he  is 
still  an  upright  and  military  figure.  I  remember 
well  how  he  looked,  for  he  came  to  see  me  under 
peculiar  circumstances,  many  months  after  the  time 
of  which  I  am  now  speaking;  and  besides,  I  had 
stood  next  to  him  for  an  hour  in  the  chapel  of  the 
choir  in  St.  Peter's. 

He  speaks  Italian  intelligibly,  but  with  the  stran 
gest  German  constructions,  and  he  rolls  the  letter  R 
curiously  in  his  throat.  But  he  is  an  intelligent 
ix  an  for  a  soldier,  though  he  thinks  talent  is  a  matter 
o  '  education,  and  education  a  matter  of  drill.  He  is 


44  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

the  most  ceremonious  man  I  ever  saw ;  and  Nino  says 
he  rose  from  his  chair  to  meet  him,  and  would  not  sit 
down  again  until  Nino  was  seated. 

"  The  sign  ore  is  the  professor  of  Italian  literature 
recommended  to  me  by  Signer  De  Pretis  ?  "  inquired 
the  colonel  in  iron  tones,  as  he  scrutinised  Nino. 

"Yes,  Signor  Conte,"  was  the  answer. 

"You  are  a  singularly  young  man  to  be  a  pro 
fessor."  Nino  trembled.  "And  how  have  you  the 
education  obtained  in  order  the  obligations  and  not- 
to-be-avoided  responsibilities  of  this  worthy-of-all 
honour  career  to  meet?" 

"  I  went  to  school  here,  Signor  Conte,  and  the  Pro 
fessor  Grandi,  in  whose  house  I  always  have  lived, 
has  taught  me  everything  else  I  know." 

"  What  do  you  know  ?  "  inquired  the  count,  so  sud 
denly  that  Nino  was  taken  off  his  guard.  He  did 
not  know  what  to  answer.  The  count  looked  very 
stern  and  pulled  his  moustaches.  "You  have  not 
come  here,"  he  continued,  seeing  that  Nino  made  no 
answer,  "without  knowing  something.  Evident  it 
is,  that,  although  a  man  young  be,  if  he  nothing 
knows,  he  cannot  a  professor  be." 

"You  speak  justly,  Signor  Conte,"  Nino  answered 
at  last,  "and  I  do  know  some  things.  I  know  the 
Commedia  of  Alighieri,  and  Petrarca,  and  I  have 
read  the  Gerusalemme  Liberata,  with  Professor 
Grandi,  and  I  can  repeat  all  of  the  Vita  Nuova  by 
heart,  and  some  of  the  "  — 

"For  the  present  that  is  enough,"  said  the  count. 
"  If  you  nothing  better  to  do  have,  will  you  so  kind 
be  as  to  begin  ?  "  / 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  46 

"  Begin  ?  "  —  said  Nino,  not  understanding. 

"Yes,  signore;  it  would  unsuitable  be  if  I  my 
daughter  to  the  hands  of  a  man  committed  unac 
quainted  with  the  matter  he  to  teach  her  proposes. 
I  desire  to  be  satisfied  that  you  all  these  things  really 
know." 

"Do  I  understand,  Signor  Conte,  that  you  wish 
me  to  repeat  to  you  some  of  the  things  I  know  by 
heart?" 

"You  have  me  understood,"  said  the  count  se 
verely.  "I  have  all  the  books  bought,  of  which 
you  speak.  You  will  repeat,  and  I  will  in  the  book 
follow.  Then  shall  we  know  each  other  much 
better." 

Nino  was  not  a  little  astonished  at  this  mode  of 
procedure,  and  wondered  how  far  his  memory  would 
serve  him  in  such  an  unexpected  examination. 

"  It  will  take  a  long  time  to  ascertain  in  this  way  " 
—  he  began. 

"This,"  said  the  count  coldly,  as  he  opened  a  vol 
ume  of  Dante,  "  is  the  celestial  play  by  Signor  Ali- 
ghieri.  If  you  anything  know,  you  will  it  repeat." 

Nino  resigned  himself,  and  began  repeating  the 
first  canto  of  the  Inferno.  When  he  had  finished  it 
he  paused. 

"Forwards,"  said  the  count,  without  any  change 
of  manner. 

"  More  ?  "  inquired  Nino. 

"March!"  said  the  old  gentleman  in  military 
tone,  and  the  boy  went  on  with  the  second  canto. 

"Apparently  know  you  the  beginning."  The 
count  opened  the  book  at  random  in  another  place. 


46  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

•'  The  thirtieth  canto  of  Purgatory.  You  will  now 
it  repeat." 

"Ah!"  cried  Nino,  "that  is  where  Dante  meets 
Beatrice." 

"  My  hitherto  not  -  by  -  any  -  means  -  extensive,  but 
always  from  -  the  -  conscience  -  undertaken,  reading 
reaches  not  so  far.  You  will  it  repeat.  So  shall  we 
know."  Nino  passed  his  hand  inside  his  collar  as 
though  to  free  his  throat,  and  began  again,  losing  all 
consciousness  of  his  tormentor  in  his  own  enjoyment 
of  the  verse. 

"When  was  the  Signore  Alighieri  born?"  in 
quired  Graf  von  Lira,  very  suddenly,  as  though  to 
catch  him. 

"May,  1265,  in  Florence,"  answered  the  other  as 
quickly. 

"  I  said  when,  not  where.  I  know  he  was  in  Flor 
ence  born.  When  and  where  died  he?"  The  ques 
tion  was  asked  fiercely. 

"Fourteenth  of  September,  1321,  at  Ravenna." 

"  I  think  really  you  something  of  Signore  Alighieri 
know,"  said  the  count,  and  shut  up  the  volume  of 
the  poet,  and  the  dictionary  of  dates  he  had  been 
obliged  to  consult  to  verify  Nino's  answers.  "  We 
will  proceed." 

Nino  i&  fortunately  one  of  those  people  whose  fac 
ulties  serve  them  best  at  their  utmost  need,  and  dur 
ing  the  three  hours  —  three  blessed  hours  —  that 
Graf  von  Lira  kept  him  under  his  eye,  asking  ques 
tions  and  forcing  him  to  repeat  all  manner  of  things, 
he  acquitted  himself  fairly  well. 

"  I  have  now  myself  satisfied  that  you  something 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  4/ 

know,"  said  the  count,  in  his  snappish  military  fash 
ion,  and  he  shut  the  last  book,  and  never  from  that 
day  referred  in  any  manner  to  Nino's  extent  of 
knowledge,  taking  it  for  granted  that  he  had  made 
an  exhaustive  investigation.  "And  now,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  I  desire  you  to  engage  for  the  reading  of 
literature  with  my  daughter,  upon  the  usual  terms/' 
Nino  was  so  much  pleased  that  he  almost  lost  his 
self-control,  but  a  moment  restored  his  reflection. 

"  I  am  honoured  "  —  he  began. 

"You  are  not  honoured  at  all,"  interrupted  the 
count  coldly.  "  What  are  the  usual  terms  ?  " 

"  Three  or  four  francs  a  lesson  "  —  suggested  Nino. 

"  Three  or  four  francs  are  not  the  usual  terms.  I 
have  inquiries  made.  Five  francs  are  the  usual 
terms.  Three  times  in  the  week,  at  eleven.  You 
will  on  the  morrow  begin.  Allow  me  to  offer  you 
some  cigars."  And  he  ended  the  interview. 


48  A  ROMAN   SINGEB, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN  a  sunny  room  overlooking  the  great  courtyard 
of  the  Palazzo  Carmandola,  Nino  sat  down  to  give 
Hedwig  von  Lira  her  first  lesson  in  Italian  litera 
ture.  He  had  not  the  remotest  idea  what  the  lesson 
was  to  be  like,  for  in  spite  of  the  tolerably  wide 
acquaintance  with  the  subject  which  he  owed  to  my 
care  and  my  efforts  to  make  a  scholar  of  him,  he 
knew  nothing  about  teaching.  Nevertheless,  as  his 
pupil  spoke  the  language  fluently,  though  with  the 
occasional  use  of  words  of  low  origin,  like  all  for 
eigners  who  have  grown  up  in  Rome  and  have 
learned  to  speak  from  their  servants,  he  anticipated 
little  difficulty.  He  felt  quite  sure  of  being  able 
to  interpret  the  hard  places,  and  he  had  learnt  from 
me  to  know  the  best  and  finest  passages  in  a  number 
of  authors. 

But  imagine  the  feelings  of  a  boy  of  twenty,  per 
fectly  in  love,  without  having  the  smallest  right  to 
be  so,  suddenly  placed  by  the  side  of  the  object  of 
his  adoration,  and  told  to  teach  her  all  he  knows  — 
with  her  father  in  the  next  room  and  the  door  open 
between !  I  have  always  thought  it  was  a  proof  of 
Nino's  determined  character,  that  he  should  have  got 
over  this  first  lesson  without  accident. 

Hedwig  von  Lira,   the  contessina,  as  we  always 


A  KOMAN  SINGEE.  49 

call  her,  is  just  Nino's  age,  but  she  seemed  much 
younger,  as  the  children  of  the  North  always  do.  I 
have  told  you  what  she  was  like  to  look  at,  and  you 
will  not  wonder  that  I  called  her  a  statue.  She  looked 
as  cold  as  a  statue,  just  as  I  said,  and  so  I  should 
hardly  describe  her  as  beautiful.  But  then  I  am  not 
a  sculptor,  nor  do  I  know  anything  about  those  arts, 
though  I  can  tell  a  good  work  when  I  see  it.  I  do 
not  wish  to  appear  prejudiced,  and  so  I  will  not  say 
anything  more  about  it.  I  like  life  in  living  things, 
and  sculptors  may,  if  it  please  them,  adore  straight 
noses,  and  level  brows,  and  mouths  that  no  one  could 
possibly  eat  with.  I  do  not  care  in  the  least,  and  if 
you  say  that  I  once  thought  differently  I  answer  that 
I  do  not  wish  to  change  your  opinion,  but  that  I  will 
change  my  own  as  often  as  I  please.  Moreover,  if 
you  say  that  the  contessina  did  not  act  like  a  statue 
in  the  sequel,  I  will  argue  that  if  you  put  marble  in 
the  fire  it  will  take  longer  to  heat  and  longer  to  cool 
than  clay;  only  clay  is  made  to  be  put  into  the  fire, 
and  marble  is  not.  Is  not  that  a  cunning  answer? 

The  contessina  is  a  foreigner  in  every  way,  al 
though  she  was  born  under  our  sun.  They  have  all 
sorts  of  talents,  these  people,  but  so  little  ingenuity 
in  using  them  that  they  never  accomplish  anything. 
It  seems  to  amuse  them  to  learn  to  do  a  great  many 
things,  although  they  must  know  from  the  beginning 
that  they  can  never  excel  in  any  one  of  them.  I 
dare  say  the  contessina  plays  on  the  piano  very  cred 
itably,  for  even  Nino  says  she  plays  well;  but  is  it 
of  any  use  to  her  ? 

Nino  very  soon  found  out  that  she  meant  to  read 


50  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

literature  very  seriously,  and,  what  is  more,  she 
meant  to  read  it  in  her  own  way.  She  was  as  differ 
ent  from  her  father  as  possible  in  everything  else,  but 
she  resembled  him  in  a  despotic  determination  to  do 
exactly  as  she  liked.  Nino  was  glad  that  he  was 
not  called  upon  to  use  his  own  judgment,  and  there 
he  sat,  content  to  look  at  her,  twisting  his  hands 
together  below  the  table  to  concentrate  his  attention, 
and  master  himself;  and  he  read  just  what  she  told 
him  to  read,  expounding  the  words  and  phrases  she 
could  not  understand.  I  dare  say  that  with  his  hair 
well  brushed,  and  his  best  coat,  and  his  eyes  on  the 
book,  he  looked  as  proper  as  you  please.  But  if  the 
high-born  young  lady  had  returned  the  glances  he 
could  not  refrain  from  bending  upon  her  now  and 
then,  she  would  have  seen  a  lover,  if  she  could  see 
at  all. 

She  did  not  see.  The  haughty  Prussian  damsel 
hardly  noticed  the  man,  for  she  was  absorbed  by  the 
professor.  Her  small  ears  were  all  attention,  and 
her  slender  fingers  made  notes  with  a  common  pencil, 
so  that  Nino  wondered  at  the  contrast  between  the 
dazzling  white  hand  arid  the  smooth,  black,  varnished 
instrument  of  writing.  He  took  no  account  of  time 
that  day,  and  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  the  mid 
day  gun  and  the  angry  clashing  of  the  bells.  The 
contessina  looked  up  suddenly  and  met  his  eyes,  but 
it  was  the  boy  that  blushed. 

"Would  you  mind  finishing  the  canto?"  she 
asked.  "There  are  only  ten  lines  more"  —  Mind! 
Nino  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"Anzi  —  by  all  means,"  he  cried.  "My  time  is 
yours,  signorina." 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  51 

When  they  had  done,  he  rose,  and  his  face  was 
sad  and  pale  again.  He  hated  to  go,  but  he  was 
only  a  teacher,  and  at  his  first  lesson,  too.  She  also 
rose,  and  waited  for  him  to  leave  the  room.  He 
could  not  hold  his  tongue. 

"Signorina"  —  he  stammered,  and  checked  him 
self.  She  looked  at  him,  to  listen,  but  his  heart 
smote  him  when  he  had  thus  arrested  her  attention. 
What  could  he  say,  as  he  stood  bowing?  It  was 
sufficiently  stupid,  what  he  said. 

"  I  shall  have  the  honour  of  returning  to-morrow 
—  the  day  after  to-morrow,  I  would  say." 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "I  believe  that  is  the  arrange 
ment.  Good-morning,  Signor  Professore."  The  title 
of  professor  rang  strangely  in  his  ear.  Was  there 
the  slightest  tinge  of  irony  in  her  voice?  Was  she 
laughing  at  his  boyish  looks?  Ugh!  the  thought 
tingled.  He  bowed  himself  out. 

That  was  the  first  lesson,  and  the  second  was  like 
it,  I  suppose,  and  a  great  many  others  about  which  I 
knew  nothing,  for  I  was  always  occupied  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  day,  and  did  not  ask  where  he  went.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  he  was  becoming  a  great  dandy, 
but  as  he  never  asked  me  for  any  money  from  the 
day  he  learned  to  copy  music,  I  never  put  any  ques 
tions.  He  certainly  had  a  new  coat  before  Christ 
mas,  and  gloves,  and  very  nice  boots,  that  made  me 
smile  when  I  thought  of  the  day  when  he  arrived, 
with  only  one  shoe  —  and  it  had  a  hole  in  it  as  big  as 
half  his  foot.  But  now  he  grew  to  be  so  careful  of 
his  appearance  that  Mariuccia  began  to  call  him  the 
"signorino."  De  Pretis  said  he  was  making  great 


52  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

progress,  and  so  I  was  contented,  though  I  always 
thought  it  was  a  sacrifice  for  him  to  be  a  singer. 

Of  course,  as  he  went  three  times  a  week  to  the 
Palazzo  Carmandola,  he  began  to  be  used  to  the 
society  of  the  contessina.  I  never  understood  how 
he  succeeded  in  keeping  up  the  comedy  of  being  a 
professor.  A  real  Roman  would  have  discovered 
him  in  a  week.  But  foreigners  are  different.  If 
they  are  satisfied,  they  pay  their  money  and  ask  no 
questions.  Besides,  he  studied  all  the  time,  saying 
that  if  he  ever  lost  his  voice  he  would  turn  man  of 
letters  —  which  sounded  so  prudent  that  I  had  noth 
ing  to  say.  Once,  we  were  walking  in  the  Corso, 
and  the  contessina  with  her  father  passed  in  the 
carriage.  Nino  raised  his  hat,  but  they  did  not  see 
him,  for  there  is  always  a  crowd  in  the  Corso. 

"Tell  me,"  he  cried  excitedly  as  they  went  by, 
"is  it  not  true  that  she  is  beautiful?" 

"A  piece  of  marble,  my  son,"  said  I,  suspecting 
nothing;  and  I  turned  into  a  tobacconist's  to  buy  a 
cigar. 

One  day  —  Nino  says  it  was  in  November  —  the 
contessina  began  asking  him  questions  about  the 
Pantheon.  It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  lesson,  and 
he  wondered  at  her  stopping  to  talk.  But  you  may 
imagine  whether  he  was  glad  or  not,  to  have  an 
opportunity  of  speaking  about  something  besides 
Dante. 

"Yes,  signorina,"he  answered,  "Professor  Grandi 
says  it  was  built  for  public  baths ;  but,  of  course,  we 
all  think  it  was  a  temple." 

"Were  you  ever  there  at  night?"  asked  she,  in- 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  53 

differently,  and  the  sun  through  the  window  so 
played  with  her  golden  hair  that  Nino  wondered  how 
she  could  ever  think  of  night  at  all. 

"At  night,  signorina?  No  indeed!  What  should 
I  go  there  at  night  to  do,  in  the  dark!  I  was  never 
there  at  night." 

"I  will  go  there  at  night,"  she  said  briefly. 

"  Ah  —  you  would  have  it  lit  up  with  torches,  as 
they  do  the  Coliseum  ?  " 

"No.     Is  there  no  moon  in  Italy,  professore?" 

"The  moon  there  is.  But  there  is  such  a  little 
hole  in  the  top  of  the  Rotonda" —  that  is  our  Roman 
name  for  the  Pantheon  —  "  that  it  would  be  very 
dark." 

"Precisely,"  said  she.  "I  will  go  there  at  night, 
and  see  the  moon  shining  through  the  hole  in  the 
dome." 

"Eh,"  cried  Nino,  laughing,  "you  will  see  the 
moon  better  outside  in  the  piazza.  Why  should  you 
go  inside,  where  you  can  see  so  little  of  it?" 

"  I  will  go, "  replied  the  contessina.  "  The  Italians 
have  no  sense  of  the  beautiful  —  the  mysterious." 
Her  eyes  grew  dreamy  as  she  tried  to  call  up  the 
picture  she  had  never  seen. 

"  Perhaps, "  said  Nino,  humbly.  "  But, "  he  added, 
suddenly  brightening  at  the  thought,  "it  is  very 
easy,  if  you  would  like  to  go.  I  will  arrange  it. 
Will  you  allow  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  arrange  it.     Let  us  go  on  with  our  lesson." 

I  would  like  to  tell  you  all  about  it;  how  Nino 
saw  the  sacristan  of  the  Pantheon  that  evening,  and 
ascertained  from  his  little  almanach  —  which  has  all 


54  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

kinds  of  wonderful  astrological  predictions,  as  well 
as  the  calendar  —  when  it  would  be  full  moon.  And 
perhaps  what  Nino  said  to  the  sacristan,  and  what 
the  sacristan  said  to  Nino,  might  be  amusing.  I  am 
very  fond  of  these  little  things,  and  fond  of  talking 
too.  For  since  it  is  talking  that  distinguishes  us 
from  other  animals,  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  not 
make  the  most  of  it.  But  you  who  are  listening  to 
me  have  seen  very  little  of  the  Contessina  Hedwig 
as  yet,  and  unless  I  quickly  tell  you  more  you  will 
wonder  how  all  the  curious  things  that  happened  to 
her  could  possibly  have  grown  out  of  the  attempt  of 
a  little  singer  like  Nino  to  make  her  acquaintance. 
Well,  Nino  is  a  great  singer  now,  of  course,  but  he 
was  little  once ;  and  when  he  palmed  himself  off  on 
the  old  count  for  an  Italian  master  without  my  knowl 
edge,  nobody  had  heard  of  him  at  all. 

Therefore  since  I  must  satisfy  your  curiosity  before 
anything  else,  and  not  dwell  too  long  on  the  details 
—  the  dear,  commonplace  details  —  I  will  simply  say 
that  Nino  succeeded  without  difficulty  in  arranging 
with  the  sacristan  of  the  Pantheon  to  allow  a  party 
of  foreigners  to  visit  the  building  at  the  full  moon, 
at  midnight.  I  have  no  doubt  he  even  expended  a 
franc  with  the  little  man,  who  is  very  old  and  dirty, 
and  keeps  chickens  in  the  vestibule  —  but  no  details  I 

On  the  appointed  night  Nino,  wrapped  in  that  old 
cloak  of  mine,  which  is  very  warm,  though  it  is 
threadbare,  accompanied  the  party  to  the  temple,  or 
church,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it.  The  party 
were  simply  the  count  and  his  daughter,  an  Austrian 
gentleman  of  their  acquaintance,  and  the  dear  baron- 


A  KOMAN   SINGER.  55 

ess  —  that  sympathetic  woman  who  broke  so  many 
hearts  and  cared  not  at  all  for  the  chatter  of  the  peo 
ple.  Every  one  has  seen  her,  with  her  slim,  grace 
ful  ways,  and  her  face  that  was  like  a  mulatto  peach 
for  darkness  and  fineness,  and  her  dark  eyes  and 
tiger-lily  look.  They  say  she  lived  entirely  on 
sweetmeats  and  coffee,  and  it  is  no  wonder  she  was 
so  sweet  and  so  dark.  She  called  me  "count"  — 
which  is  very  foolish  now,  but  if  I  were  going  to  fall 
in  love  I  should  have  loved  her.  I  should  not  love 
a  statue.  As  for  the  Austrian  gentleman,  it  is  not 
of  any  importance  to  describe  him. 

These  four  people  Nino  conducted  to  the  little 
entrance  at  the  back  of  the  Pantheon,  and  the  sac 
ristan  struck  a  light  to  show  them  the  way  to  the 
door  of  the  church.  Then  he  put  out  his  taper,  and 
let  them  do  as  they  pleased. 

Conceive  if  you  can  the  darkness  of  Egypt,  the 
darkness  that  can  be  felt,  impaled  and  stabbed 
through  its  whole  thickness  by  one  mighty  moon 
beam,  clear  and  clean  and  cold,  from  the  top  to  the 
bottom.  All  around,  in  the  circle  of  the  outer 
black,  lie  the  great  dead  in  their  tombs,  whispering 
to  each  other  of  deeds  that  shook  the  world;  whis 
pering  in  a  language  all  their  own  as  yet  —  the  lan 
guage  of  the  life  to  come  —  the  language  of  a  stillness 
so  dread  and  deep  that  the  very  silence  clashes  against 
it,  and  makes  dull,  muffled  beatings  in  ears  that 
strain  to  catch  the  dead  men's  talk:  the  shadow  of 
immortality  falling  through  the  shadow  of  death,  and 
bursting  back  upon  its  heavenward  course  from  the 
depth  of  the  abyss ;  climbing  again  upon  its  silver 


56  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

self  to  the  sky  above,  leaving  behind  the  horror  of 
the  deep. 

So  in  that  lonely  place  at  midnight  falls  the  moon 
upon  the  floor,  and  through  the  mystic  shaft  of  rays 
ascend  and  descend  the  souls  of  the  dead.  Hedwig 
stood  out  alone  upon  the  white  circle  on  the  pave 
ment  beneath  the  dome,  and  looked  up  as  though  she 
could  see  the  angels  coming  and  going.  And,  as 
she  looked,  the  heavy  lace  veil  that  covered  her  head 
fell  back  softly,  as  though  a  spirit  wooed  her  and 
would  fain  look  on  something  fairer  than  he,  and 
purer.  The  whiteness  clung  to  her  face,  and  each 
separate  wave  of  hair  was  like  spun  silver.  And  she 
looked  steadfastly  up.  For  a  moment  she  stood,  and 
the  hushed  air  trembled  about  her.  Then  the  silence 
caught  the  tremor,  and  quivered,  and  a  thrill  of 
sound  hovered  and  spread  its  wings,  and  sailed  forth 
from  the  night. 

"Spirto  gentil  dei  sogni  miei  "  — 

Ah,  Signorina  Edvigia,  you  know  that  voice  now, 
but  you  did  not  know  it  then.  How  your  heart 
stopped,  and  beat,  and  stopped  again,  when  you  first 
heard  that  man  sing  out  his  whole  heartful  —  you  in 
the  light  and  he  in  the  dark !  And  his  soul  shot  out 
to  you  upon  the  sounds,  and  died  fitfully,  as  the 
magic  notes  dashed  their  soft  wings  against  the 
vaulted  roof  above  you,  and  took  new  life  again  and 
throbbed  heavenward  in  broad,  passionate  waves,  till 
your  breath  came  thick  and  your  blood  ran  fiercely 
—  ay,  even  your  cold  northern  blood  —  in  very  tri 
umph  that  a  voice  could  so  move  you.  A  voice  in 
the  dark.  For  a  full  minute  after  it  ceased  you  stood 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  57 

there,  and  the  others,  wherever  they  might  be  in  the 
shadow,  scarcely  breathed. 

That  was  how  Hedwig  first  heard  Nino  sing. 
When  at  last  she  recovered  herself  enough  to  ask 
aloud  the  name  of  the  singer,  Nino  had  moved  quite 
close  to  her. 

"  It  is  a  relation  of  mine,  signorina,  a  young  fel 
low  who  is  going  to  be  an  artist.  I  asked  him  as  a 
favour  to  come  here  and  sing  to  you  to-night.  I 
thought  it  might  please  you." 

"  A  relation  of  yours !  "  exclaimed  the  contessina. 
And  the  others  approached  so  that  they  all  made  a 
group  in  the  disc  of  moonlight.  "Just  think,  my 
dear  baroness,  this  wonderful  voice  is  a  relation  of 
Signor  Cardegna,  my  excellent  Italian  master!" 
There  was  a  little  murmur  of  admiration ;  then  the 
old  count  spoke. 

"Signore,"  said  he,  rolling  in  his  gutturals,  "it 
is  my  duty  to  very  much  thank  you.  You  will  now, 
if  you  please,  me  the  honour  do,  me  to  your  all-the- 
talents-possible-possessing  relation  to  present. "  Nino 
had  foreseen  the  contingency,  and  disappeared  into 
the  dark.  Presently  he  returned. 

"I  am  so  sorry,  Signor  Conte,"  he  said.  "The 
sacristan  tells  me  that  when  my  cousin  had  finished 
he  hurried  away,  saying  he  was  afraid  of  taking  some 
ill  if  he  remained  here  where  it  is  so  damp.  I  will 
tell  him  how  much  you  appreciated  him." 

"Curious  is  it,"  remarked  the  count.  "I  heard 
him  not  going  off." 

"  He  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  sacristy,  by  the 
high  altar,  Signor  Conte." 


58  A   ROMAN   SINGEK. 

"In  that  case  is  it  different." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Nino.  "The  signorina  was  so 
unkind  as  to  say,  lately,  that  we  Italians  have  no 
sense  of  the  beautiful,  the  mysterious  "  — 

"I  take  it  back,"  said  Hedwig  gravely,  still  stand 
ing  in  the  moonlight.  "Your  cousin  has  a  very 
great  power  over  the  beautiful." 

"And  the  mysterious,"  added  the  baroness,  who 
had  not  spoken,  "  for  his  departure  without  showing 
himself  has  left  me  the  impression  of  a  sweet  dream. 
Give  me  your  arm,  Professore  Cardegna.  I  will  not 
stay  here  any  longer,  now  that  the  dream  is  over." 

Nino  sprang  to  her  side  politely,  though  to  tell 
the  truth  she  did  not  attract  him  at  first  sight.  He 
freed  one  arm  from  the  old  cloak,  and  reflected  that 
she  could  not  tell  in  the  dark  how  very  shabby  it 
was. 

"You  give  lessons  to  the  Signorina  di  Lira?"  she 
asked,  leading  him  quickly  away  from  the  party. 

"Yes  —  in  Italian  literature,  signora." 

"  Ah  —  she  tells  me  great  things  of  you.  Could 
you  not  spare  me  an  hour  or  two  in  the  week,  pro- 
fessore?" 

Here  was  a  new  complication.  Nino  had  certainly 
not  contemplated  setting  up  for  an  Italian  teacher  to 
all  the  world,  when  he  undertook  to  give  lessons  to 
Hedwig. 

"Signora"  —  he  began,  in  a  protesting  voice. 

"You  will  do  it  to  oblige  me,  I  am  sure,"  she  said 
eagerly,  and  her  slight  hand  just  pressed  upon  his 
arm  a  little. 

Nino  had  found  time  to  reflect  that  this  lady  was 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  59 

intimate  with  Hedwig,  and  that  he  might  possibly 
gain  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  girl  he  loved  if 
he  accepted  the  offer. 

"Whenever  it  pleases  you,  signora,"  he  said  at 
length. 

"  Can  you  come  to  me  to-morrow  at  eleven  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"At  twelve,  if  you  please,  signora,  or  half  past. 
Eleven  is  the  contessina's  hour  to-morrow." 

"At  half  past  twelve,  then,  to-morrow,"  said  she, 
and  she  gave  him  her  address,  as  they  went  out  into 
the  street.  "Stop,"  she  added,  "where  do  you  live?" 

"Number  twenty-seven,  Santa  Catarina  dei  Fu- 
nari,"  he  answered,  wondering  why  she  asked.  The 
rest  of  the  party  came  out,  and  Nino  bowed  to  the 
ground,  as  he  bid  the  contessina  good-night. 

He  was  glad  to  be  free  of  that  pressure  on  his  arm, 
and  he  was  glad  to  be  alone,  to  wander  through  the 
streets  under  the  moonlight  and  to  think  over  what 
he  had  done. 

"  There  is  no  risk  of  my  being  discovered,"  he  said 
to  himself,  confidently.  "  The  story  of  the  near  rela 
tion  was  well  imagined,  and,  besides,  it  is  true.  Am 
I  not  my  own  nearest  relation  ?  I  certainly  have  no 
others  that  I  know  of.  And  this  baroness  —  what 
can  she  want  of  me?  She  speaks  Italian  like  a 
Spanish  cow,  and  indeed  she  needs  a  professor  badly 
enough.  But  why  should  she  take  a  fancy  for  me 
as  a  teacher?  Ah!  those  eyes!  Not  the  baroness's. 
Edvigia  —  Edvigia  di  Lira  —  Edvigia  Ca  —  Car- 
degna!  Why  not?"  He  stopped  to  think,  and 
looked  long  at  the  moonbeams  playing  on  the  waters 


60  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

of  the  fountain.  "  Why  not  ?  But  the  baroness  — 
may  the  diavolo  fly  away  with  her!  What  should  I 
do  —  I  indeed !  with  a  pack  of  baronesses  ?  I  will  go 
to  bed  and  dream  —  not  of  a  baroness!  Macche\ 
never  a  baroness  in  my  dreams,  with  eyes  like  a  snake 
and  who  cannot  speak  three  words  properly  in  the 
only  language  under  the  sun  worth  speaking!  Not 
I  —  I  will  dream  of  Edvigia  di  Lira — she  is  the 
spirit  of  my  dreams.  Spirto  gentil  "  — and  away  he 
went,  humming  the  air  from  the  Favorita  in  the  top 
of  his  head,  as  is  his  wont. 

The  next  day  the  contessina  could  talk  of  nothing 
during  her  lesson  but  the  unknown  singer  who  had 
made  the  night  so  beautiful  for  her,  and  Nino  flushed 
red  under  his  dark  skin  and  ran  his  fingers  wildly 
through  his  curly  hair,  with  pleasure.  But  he  set 
his  square  jaw,  which  means  so  much,  and  explained 
to  his  pupil  how  hard  it  would  be  for  her  to  hear  him 
again.  For  his  friend,  he  said,  was  soon  to  make 
his  appearance  on  the  stage,  and  of  course  he  could 
not  be  heard  singing  before  that.  And  as  the  young 
lady  insisted,  Nino  grew  silent,  and  remarked  that 
the  lesson  was  not  progressing.  Thereupon  Hedwig 
blushed  —  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen  her  blush 
—  and  did  not  approach  the  subject  again. 

After  that  he  went  to  the  house  of  the  baroness, 
where  he  was  evidently  expected,  for  the  servant 
asked  his  name  and  immediately  ushered  him  into 
her  presence.  She  was  one  of  those  lithe,  dark 
women  of  good  race,  that  are  to  be  met  with  all  over 
the  world,  and  she  has  broken  many  hearts.  But 
she  was  not  like  a  snake  at  all,  as  Nino  had  thought 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  61 

at  first.  She  was  simply  a  very  fine  lady  who  did 
exactly  what  she  pleased ;  and  if  she  did  not  always 
act  rightly,  yet  I  think  she  rarely  acted  unkindly. 
After  all,  the  buon  Dio  has  not  made  us  all  paragons 
of  domestic  virtue.  Men  break  their  hearts  for  so 
very  little,  and,  unless  they  are  ruined,  they  melt 
the  pieces  at  the  next  flame  and  join  them  together 
again  like  bits  of  sealing  wax. 

The  baroness  sat  before  a  piano  in  a  boudoir, 
where  there  was  not  very  much  light.  Every  part 
of  the  room  was  crowded  with  fans,  ferns,  palms, 
Oriental  carpets  and  cushions,  books,  porcelain, 
majolica,  and  pictures.  You  could  hardly  move 
without  touching  some  ornament,  and  the  heavy 
curtains  softened  the  sunshine,  and  a  small  open  fire 
of  wood  helped  the  warmth.  There  was  also  an  odour 
of  Turkish  tobacco.  The  baroness  smiled  and  turned 
on  the  piano  seat. 

"Ah,  professore!  You  come  just  in  time,"  said 
she.  "I  am  trying  to  sing  such  a  pretty  song  to 
myself,  and  I  cannot  pronounce  the  words.  Come 
and  teach  me."  Nino  contrasted  the  whole  air  of 
this  luxurious  retreat  with  the  prim,  soldierly  order 
that  reigned  in  the  count's  establishment. 

"  Indeed,  signora,  I  come  to  teach  you  whatever  I 
can.  Here  I  am.  I  cannot  sing,  but  I  will  stand 
beside  you  and  prompt  with  the  words." 

Nino  is  not  a  shy  boy  at  all,  and  he  assumed  the 
duties  required  of  him  immediately.  He  stood  by 
her  side,  and  she  just  nodded  and  began  to  sing  a 
little  song  which  stood  on  the  desk  of  the  piano. 
She  did  not  sing  out  of  tune,  but  she  made  wrong 
notes  and  pronounced  horribly. 


62  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"Pronounce  the  words  for  me,"  she  repeated  every 
now  and  then. 

"But  pronouncing  in  singing  is  different  from 
speaking,"  he  objected  at  last,  and  fairly  forgetting 
himself,  and  losing  patience,  he  began  softly  to  sing 
the  words  over.  Little  by  little,  as  the  song  pleased 
him,  he  lost  all  memory  of  where  he  was,  and  stood 
beside  her  singing  just  as  he  would  have  done  to  De 
Pretis,  from  the  sheet,  with  all  the  accuracy  and 
skill  that  were  in  him.  At  the  end,  he  suddenly 
remembered  how  foolish  he  was.  But,  after  all,  he 
had  not  sung  to  the  power  of  his  voice,  and  she  might 
not  recognise  in  him  the  singer  of  last  night.  The 
baroness  looked  up  with  a  light  laugh. 

"I  have  found  you  out,"  she  cried,  clapping  her 
hands.  "I  have  found  you  out." 

"What,  signora?" 

"  You  are  the  tenor  of  the  Pantheon  —  that  is  all. 
I  knew  it.  Are  you  so  sorry  that  I  have  found  you 
out?"  she  asked,  for  Nino  turned  very  white,  and 
his  eyes  flashed  at  the  thought  of  the  folly  he  had 
committed. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  t)b 


CHAPTER  V. 

NINO  was  thoroughly  frightened,  for  he  knew  that 
discovery  portended  the  loss  of  everything  most  dear 
to  him.  No  more  lessons  with  Hedwig,  no  more 
parties  to  the  Pantheon  —  no  more  peace,  no  more 
anything.  He  wrung  his  fingers  together  and 
breathed  hard. 

"  Ah,  signora !  "  he  found  voice  to  exclaim,  "  I  am 
sure  you  cannot  believe  it  possible  "  — 

"Why  not,  Signer  Cardegna?"  asked  the  baron 
ess,  looking  up  at  him  from  under  her  half-closed 
lids  with  a  mocking  glance.  "Why  not?  Did  you 
not  tell  me  where  you  lived?  And  does  not  the 
whole  neighbourhood  know  that  you  are  no  other 
than  Giovanni  Cardegna,  commonly  called  Nino,  who 
is  to  make  his  de*but  in  the  Carnival  season  ?  " 

"Dio  mio!"  ejaculated  Nino  in  a  hoarse  voice, 
realising  that  he  was  entirely  found  out,  and  that 
nothing  could  save  him.  He  paced  the  room  in  an 
agony  of  despair,  and  his  square  face  was  as  white 
as  a  sheet.  The  baroness  sat  watching  him  with  a 
smile  on  her  lips,  amused  at  the  tempest  she  had 
created,  and  pretending  to  know  much  more  than 
she  did.  She  thought  it  not  impossible  that  Nino, 
who  was  certainly  poor,  might  be  supporting  himself 
by  teaching  Italian  while  studying  for  the  stage,  and 


64  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

she  inwardly  admired  his  sense  and  two-fold  talent, 
if  that  were  really  the  case.  But  she  was  willing  to 
torment  him  a  little,  seeing  that  she  had  the  power. 

"Signor  Cardegna"  —  she  called  him  in  her  soft 
voice.  He  turned  quickly,  and  stood  facing  her,  his 
arms  crossed. 

"You  look  like  Napoleon  at  Waterloo,  when  you 
stand  like  that,"  she  laughed.  He  made  no  answer, 
waiting  to  see  what  she  would  do  with  her  victory. 
"It  seems  that  you  are  sorry  I  have  discovered  you," 
she  added  presently,  looking  down  at  her  hands. 

"Is  that  all! "  he  said,  with  a  bitter  sneer  on  his 
pale  young  face. 

"  Then,  since  you  are  sorry,  you  must  have  a  rea 
son  for  concealment,"  she  went  on,  as  though  reflect 
ing  on  the  situation.  It  was  deftly  done,  and  Nino 
took  heart. 

"Signora,"  he  said  in  a  trembling  voice,  "it  is 
natural  that  a  man  should  wish  to  live.  I  give  les 
sons  now,  until  I  have  appeared  in  public,  to  support 
myself." 

"Ah —  I  begin  to  understand,"  said  the  baroness. 
In  reality,  she  began  to  doubt,  reflecting  that  if  this 
were  the  whole  truth  Nino  would  be  too  proud  —  or 
any  other  Italian  —  to  say  it  so  plainly.  She  was 
subtle,  the  baroness! 

"And  do  you  suppose,"  he  continued,  "that  if 
once  the  Conte  di  Lira  had  an  idea  that  I  was  to  be 
a  public  singer  he  would  employ  me  as  a  teacher  for 
his  daughter?" 

"No,  but  others  might,"  she  objected. 

"But  not  the  count,"  -Nino  bit  his  lip,  fearing 
he  had  betrayed  himself. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  65 

"Nor  the  contessina,"  laughed  the  baroness,  com 
pleting  the  sentence.  He  saw  at  a  glance  what  she 
suspected,  and  instead  of  keeping  cool  grew  angry. 

"  I  came  here,  Signora  Baronessa,  not  to  be  cross- 
examined,  but  to  teach  you  Italian.  Since  you  do 
not  desire  to  study,  I  will  say  good-morning."  He 
took  his  hat,  and  moved  proudly  to  the  door. 

"Come  here,"  she  said,  not  raising  her  voice,  but 
still  commanding.  He  turned,  hesitated,  and  came 
back.  He  thought  her  voice  was  changed.  She 
rose,  and  swept  her  silken  morning-gown  between 
the  chairs  and  tables,  till  she  reached  a  deep  divan 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room.  There  she  sat  down. 

"Come  and  sit  beside  me,"  she  said  kindly,  and  he 
obeyed  in  silence. 

"Do  you  know  what  would  have  happened,"  she 
continued,  when  he  was  seated,  "  if  you  had  left  me 
just  now  ?  I  would  have  gone  to  the  Graf  von  Lira 
and  told  him  that  you  were  not  a  fit  person  to  teach 
his  daughter;  that  you  are  a  singer,  and  not  a  pro 
fessor  at  all ;  and  that  you  have  assumed  this  dis 
guise  for  the  sake  of  seeing  his  daughter."  But  I 
do  not  believe  that  she  would  have  done  it. 

"That  would  have  been  a  betrayal,"  said  Nino 
fiercely,  looking  away  from  her.  She  laughed 
lightly. 

"  Is  it  not  natural, "  she  asked,  "  that  I  should  make 
inquiries  about  my  Italian  teacher,  before  I  begin 
lessons  with  him?  And  if  I  find  he  is  not  what 
he  pretends  to  be,  should  I  not  warn  my  intimate 
friends  ?  "  She  spoke  so  reasonably  that  he  was  fain 
to  acknowledge  that  she  was  right. 


66  A   ROMAN    SINGER. 

"It  is  just,"  he  said  sullenly.  "But  you  have 
been  very  quick  to  make  your  inquiries,  as  you  call 
them." 

"  The  time  was  short,  since  you  were  to  come  this 
morning." 

"  That  is  true,"  he  answered.  He  moved  uneasily. 
"  And  now,  signora,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  tell 
me  what  you  intend  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

"Certainly,  since  you  are  more  reasonable.  You 
see  I  treat  you  altogether  as  an  artist,  and  not  at  all 
as  an  Italian  master.  A  great  artist  may  idle  away 
a  morning  in  a  woman's  boudoir;  a  simple  teacher  of 
languages  must  be  more  industrious." 

"But  I  am  not  a  great  artist,"  said  Nino,  whose 
vanity —  we  all  have  it  —  began  to  flutter  a  little. 

"You  will  be  one  before  long,  and  one  of  the 
greatest.  You  are  a  boy  yet,  my  little  tenor,"  said 
she,  looking  at  him  with  her  dark  eyes,  "and  I 
might  almost  be  your  mother.  How  old  are  you, 
Signer  Nino?" 

"I  was  twenty  on  my  last  birthday,"  he  answered, 
blushing. 

"You  see!  I  am  thirty  —  at  least,"  she  added, 
with  a  short  laugh. 

"Well,  signora,  what  of  that?"  asked  Nino,  half 
amused.  "I  wish  I  were  thirty  myself." 

"I  am  glad  you  are  not,"  said  she.  "Now  listen. 
You  are  completely  in  my  power,  do  you  understand  ? 
Yes.  And  you  are  apparently  very  much  in  love 
with  my  young  friend,  the  Contessina  di  Lira "  — 
Nino  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  face  white  again,  but 
with  rage  this  time. 


A   ROMAN    SINGER.  67 

"Signora,"  he  cried,  "this  is  too  much!  It  is 
insufferable!  Good-morning."  And  he  made  as 
though  he  would  go. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  baroness;  "then  I  will  go 
to  the  Graf  and  explain  who  you  are.  Ah  —  you  are 
calm  again  in  a  moment?  Sit  down.  Now  I  have 
discovered  you,  and  I  have  a  right  to  you,  do  you 
see?  It  is  fortunate  for  you  that  I  like  you." 

"You!  You  like  me?  In  truth,  you  act  as 
though  you  did!  Besides,  you  are  a  stranger,  Sig 
nora  Baron essa,  and  a  great  lady.  I  never  saw  you 
till  yesterday."  But  he  resumed  his  seat. 

"  Good,"  said  she.  "  Is  not  the  Signorina  Edvigia 
a  great  lady,  and  was  there  never  a  day  when  she 
was  a  stranger  too  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  caprices,  signora.  In 
fine,  what  do  you  want  of  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should  understand 
me,"  answered  the  dark-eyed  baroness.  "Do  you 
think  I  would  hurt  you  —  or  rather  your  voice  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know." 

"You  know  very  well  that  I  would  not;  and  as 
for  my  caprices,  as  you  call  them,  do  you  think  it  is 
a  caprice  to  love  music?  No,  of  course  not.  And 
who  loves  music  loves  musicians;  at  least,"  she 
added,  with  a  most  enchanting  smile,  "enough  to 
wish  to  have  them  near  one.  That  is  all.  I  want 
you  to  come  here  often  and  sing  to  me.  Will  you 
come  and  sing  to  me,  my  little  tenor  ?  " 

Nino  would  not  have  been  human  had  he  not  felt 
the  flattery  through  the  sting.  And  I  always  say 
that  singers  are  the  vainest  kind  of  people. 


68  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

"It  is  very  like  singing  in  a  cage,"  he  said,  in  pro 
test.  Nevertheless,  he  knew  he  must  submit;  for, 
however  narrow  his  experience  might  be,  this 
woman's  smile  and  winning  grace,  even  when  she 
said  the  hardest  things,  told  him  that  she  would  have 
her  own  way.  He  had  the  sense  to  understand,  too, 
that  whatever  her  plans  might  be,  their  object  was  to 
bring  him  near  to  herself,  a  reflection  which  was 
extremely  soothing  to  his  vanity. 

"  If  you  will  come  and  sing  to  me,  —  only  to  me, 
of  course,  for  I  would  not  ask  you  to  compromise 
your  de*but,  — but  if  you  will  come  and  sing  to  me, 
we  shall  be  very  good  friends.  Does  it  seem  to  you 
such  a  terrible  penance  to  sing  to  me  in  my  solitude  ?  " 

"It  is  never  a  penance  to  sing,"  said  Nino  simply. 
A  shade  of  annoyance  crossed  the  baroness's  face. 

"Provided,"  she  said,  " it  entails  nothing.  Well, 
we  will  not  talk  about  the  terms." 

They  say  women  sometimes  fall  in  love  with  a 
voice :  vox  et  prseterea  nihil,  as  the  poet  has  it.  I 
do  not  know  whether  that  is  what  happened  to  the 
baroness  at  first,  but  it  has  always  seemed  strange  to 
me  that  she  should  have  given  herself  so  much  trou 
ble  to  secure  Nino,  unless  she  had  a  very  strong  fancy 
for  him.  I,  for  my  part,  think  that  when  a  lady  of 
her  condition  takes  such  a  sudden  caprice  into  her 
head,  she  thinks  it  necessary  to  maltreat  the  poor 
man  a  little  at  first,  just  to  satisfy  her  conscience, 
and  to  be  able  to  say  later  that  she  did  not  encourage 
him.  I  have  had  some  experience,  as  everybody  is 
aware,  and  so  I  may  speak  boldly.  On  the  other  hand, 
a  man  like  Nino,  when  he  is  in  love,  is  absolutely 


A  KOMAN   SINGER.  69 

blind  to  other  women.  There  is  only  one  idea  in  his 
soul  that  has  any  life,  and  every  one  outside  that 
idea  is  only  so  much  landscape ;  they  are  no  better 
for  him  —  the  other  women  —  than  a  museum  of  wax 
dolls. 

The  baroness,  as  you  have  seen,  had  Nino  in  her 
power,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  submission ; 
he  came  and  went  at  her  bidding,  and  often  she 
would  send  for  him  when  he  least  expected  it.  He 
did  as  she  commanded,  somewhat  sullenly  and  with 
a  bad  grace,  but  obediently,  for  all  that;  she  had  his 
destiny  in  her  hands,  and  could  in  a  moment  frus 
trate  all  his  hopes.  But,  of  course,  she  knew  that  if 
she  betrayed  him  to  the  count,  Nino  would  be  lost 
to  her  also,  since  he  came  to  her  only  in  order  to 
maintain  his  relations  with  Hedwig. 

Meanwhile,  the  blue-eyed  maiden  of  the  North 
waxed  fitful.  Sometimes  two  or  three  lessons  passed 
in  severe  study.  Nino,  who  always  took  care  to 
know  the  passages  they  were  reading,  so  that  he 
might  look  at  her  instead  of  at  his  book,  had  insti 
tuted  an  arrangement  by  which  they  sat  opposite 
each  other  at  a  small  table.  He  could  watch  her 
every  movement  and  look,  and  carry  away  a  series  of 
photographs  of  her,  —  a  whole  row,  like  the  little 
books  of  Roman  views  they  sell  in  the  streets,  strung 
together  on  a  strip  of  paper,  —  and  these  views  of 
her  lasted  with  him  for  two  whole  days,  until  he 
saw  her  again.  But  sometimes  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  her  in  the  interval,  driving  with  her  father. 

There  were  other  days  when  Hedwig  could  not  be 
induced  to  study,  but  would  overwhelm  Nino  with 


70  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

questions  about  his  wonderful  cousin  who  sang;  so 
that  he  longed  with  his  whole  soul  to  tell  her  it  was 
he  himself  who  had  sung.  She  saw  his  reluctance 
to  speak  about  it,  and  she  blushed  when  she  men 
tioned  the  night  at  the  Pantheon ;  but  for  her  life 
she  could  not  help  talking  of  the  pleasure  she  had 
had.  Her  blushes  seemed  like  the  promise  of  spring 
roses  to  her  lover,  who  drank  of  the  air  of  her  pres 
ence  till  that  subtle  ether  ran  like  fire  through  his 
veins.  He  was  nothing  to  her,  he  could  see;  but 
the  singer  of  the  Pantheon  engrossed  her  thoughts 
and  brought  the  hot  blood  to  her  cheek.  The  beam 
of  moonlight  had  pierced  the  soft  virgin  darkness 
of  her  sleeping  soul,  and  found  a  heart  so  cold  and 
spotless  that  even  a  moon  ray  was  warm  by  compari 
son.  And  the  voice  that  sang  "Spirto  gentil  del 
sogni  miei "  had  itself  become  by  memory  the  gentle 
spirit  of  her  own  dreams.  She  is  so  full  of  imag 
ination,  this  statue  of  Nino's,  that  she  heard  the 
notes  echoing  after  her  by  day  and  night,  till  she 
thought  she  must  go  mad  unless  she  could  hear  the 
reality  again.  As  the  great  solemn  statue  of  Egyp 
tian  Memnon  murmurs  sweet,  soft  sounds  to  its 
mighty  self  at  sunrise,  a  musical  whisper  in  the 
desert,  so  the  pure  white  marble  of  Nino's  living 
statue  vibrated  with  strange  harmonies  all  the  day 
long. 

One  night,  as  Nino  walked  homeward  with  De 
Pretis,  who  had  come  to  supper  with  us,  he  induced 
the  maestro  to  go  out  of  his  way  at  least  half  a  mile, 
to  pass  the  Palazzo  Carmandola.  It  was  a  still  night, 
not  over-cold  for  December,  and  there  were  neither 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  71 

stars  nor  moon.  As  they  passed  the  great  house 
Nino  saw  a  light  in  Hedwig's  sitting-room  —  the 
room  where  he  gave  her  the  lessons.  It  was  late, 
and  she  must  be  alone.  On  a  sudden  he  stopped. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  De  Pretis. 

For  all  answer,  Nino,  standing  in  the  dark  street 
below,  lifted  up  his  voice  and  sang  the  first  notes  of 
the  air  he  always  associated  with  his  beautiful  con- 
tessina.  Before  he  had  sung  a  dozen  bars,  the  win 
dow  opened,  and  the  girl's  figure  could  be  seen, 
black  against  the  light  within.  He  went  on  for  a 
few  notes,  and  then  ceased  suddenly. 

"Let  us  go,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Ercole;  and 
they  went  away,  leaving  the  contessina  listening  in 
the  stillness  to  the  echo  of  their  feet.  A  Roman  girl 
would  not  have  done  that;  she  would  have  sat  quietly 
inside,  and  never  have  shown  herself.  But  foreign 
ers  are  so  impulsive  I 

Nino  never  heard  the  last  of  those  few  notes,  any 
more  than  the  contessina,  literally  speaking,  ever 
heard  the  end  of  the  song. 

"Your  cousin,  about  whom  you  make  so  much 
mystery,  passed  under  my  window  last  night,"  said 
the  young  lady  the  next  day,  with  the  usual  display 
of  carnation  in  her  cheeks  at  the  mention  of  him. 

"Indeed,  signorina?"  said  Nino  calmly,  for  he 
expected  the  remark.  "  And  since  you  have  never 
seen  him,  pray  how  did  you  know  it  was  he?" 

"How  should  one  know?"  she  asked  scornfully. 
"  There  are  not  two  such  voices  as  his  in  Italy.  He 
sang." 

"  He  sang  ?  "  cried  Nino,   with  an  affectation   of 


72  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

alarm.  "  I  must  tell  the  maestro  not  to  let  him  sing 
in  the  open  air;  he  will  lose  his  voice." 

"Who  is  his  master?"  asked  Hedwig,  suddenly. 

"I  cannot  remember  the  name  just  now,"  said 
Nino,  looking  away.  "But  I  will  find  out,  if  you 
wish."  He  was  afraid  of  putting  De  Pretis  to  any 
inconvenience  by  saying  that  the  young  singer  was 
his  pupil.  "  However,"  he  continued,  "you  will  hear 
him  sing  as  often  as  you  please,  after  he  makes  his 
d£but  next  month."  He  sighed  when  he  thought 
that  it  would  all  so  soon  be  over.  For  how  could  he 
disguise  himself  any  longer,  when  he  should  be  sing 
ing  in  public  every  night  ?  But  Hedwig  clapped  her 
hands. 

"  So  soon  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Then  there  will  be  an 
end  of  the  mystery." 

"Yes,"  said  Nino  gravely,  "there  will  be  an  end 
of  the  mystery." 

"  At  least  you  can  tell  me  his  name,  now  that  we 
shall  all  know  it?" 

"Oh,  his  name  —  his  name  is  Cardegna,  like  mine. 
He  is  my  cousin,  you  know."  And  they  went  on 
with  the  lesson.  But  something  of  the  kind  occurred 
almost  every  time  he  came,  so  that  he  felt  quite  sure 
that,  however  indifferent  he  might  be  in  her  eyes, 
the  singer,  the  Nino  of  whom  she  knew  nothing, 
interested  her  deeply. 

Meanwhile  he  was  obliged  to  go  very  often  to  the 
baroness's  scented  boudoir,  which  smelled  of  incense 
and  other  Eastern  perfumes,  whenever  it  did  riot 
smell  of  cigarettes;  and  there  he  sang  little  songs, 
and  submitted  patiently  to  her  demands  for  more  and 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  73 

more  music.  She  would  sit  by  the  piano  and  watch 
him  as  he  sang,  wondering  whether  he  were  hand 
some  or  ugly,  with  his  square  face  and  broad  throat 
and  the  black  circles  round  his  eyes.  He  had  a  fas 
cination  for  her,  as  being  something  utterly  new  to 
her. 

One  day  she  stood  and  looked  over  the  music  as  he 
sang,  almost  touching  him,  and  his  hair  was  so  curly 
and  soft  to  look  at  that  she  was  seized  with  a  desire 
to  stroke  it,  as  Mariuccia  strokes  the  old  grey  cat  for 
hours  together.  The  action  was  quite  involuntary, 
and  her  fingers  rested  only  a  moment  on  his  head. 

"It  is  so  curly,"  she  said,  half  playfully,  half 
apologetically.  But  Nino  started  as  though  he  had 
been  stung,  and  his  dark  face  grew  pale.  A  girl 
could  not  have  seemed  more  hurt  at  a  strange  man's 
touch. 

"Signora!"  he  cried,  springing  to  his  feet.  The 
baroness,  who  is  as  dark  as  he,  blushed  almost  red, 
partly  because  she  was  angry,  and  partly  because  she 
was  ashamed. 

"  What  a  boy  you  are ! "  she  said,  carelessly 
enough,  and  turned  away  to  the  window,  pushing 
back  one  heavy  curtain  with  her  delicate  hand,  as 
though  she  would  look  out. 

"Pardon  me,  signora,  I  am  not  a  boy,"  said  Nino, 
speaking  to  the  back  of  her  head  as  he  stood  behind 
her.  "It  is  time  we  understood  each  other  better. 
I  love  like  a  man  and  I  hate  like  a  man.  I  love 
some  one  very  much." 

"Fortunate  contessina!"  laughed  the  baroness, 
mockingly,  without  turning  round. 


74  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"  It  does  not  concern  you,  signora,  to  know  whom 
I  love,  nor,  if  you  know,  to  speak  of  her.  I  ask  you 
a  simple  question.  If  you  loved  a  man  with  your 
whole  soul  and  heart,  would  you  allow  another  man 
to  stand  beside  you  and  stroke  your  hair,  and  say 
it  was  curly?"  The  baroness  burst  out  laughing. 
"Do  not  laugh,"  he  continued.  "Remember  that  I 
am  in  your  power  only  so  long  as  it  pleases  me  to 
submit  to  you.  Do  not  abuse  your  advantage,  or  I 
shall  be  capable  of  creating  for  myself  situations 
quite  as  satisfactory  as  that  of  Italian  master  to  the 
Signorina  di  Lira." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  suddenly 
upon  him.  "  I  suppose  you  would  tell  me  that  you 
will  make  advantages  for  yourself  which  you  will 
abuse,  against  me  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  mean  that.  I  mean  only  that  I  may  not 
wish  to  give  lessons  to  the  contessina  much  longer." 

By  this  time  the  baroness  had  recovered  her  equa 
nimity;  and  as  she  would  have  been  sorry  to  lose 
Nino,  who  was  a  source  of  infinite  pleasure  and 
amusement  to  her,  she  decided  to  pacify  him,  instead 
of  teasing  him  any  more. 

"  Is  is  not  very  foolish  for  us  to  quarrel  about  your 
curly  hair?"  said  she.  "We  have  been  such  good 
friends,  always."  It  might  have  been  three  weeks, 
her  "always." 

"I  think  it  is,"  answered  Nino  gravely.  "But  do 
not  stroke  my  hair  again,  Signora  Baronessa,  or  I 
shall  be  angry." 

He  was  quite  serious,  if  you  will  believe  it,  though 
he  was  only  twenty.  He  forthwith  sat  down  to  the 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  75 

piano  again  and  sang  on.  The  baroness  sat  very 
silent  and  scarcely  looked  at  him ;  but  she  held  her 
hands  clasped  on  her  knee,  and  seemed  to  be  think 
ing.  After  a  time  Nino  stopped  singing,  and  sat 
silent  also,  absently  turning  over  the  sheets  of  music. 
It  was  warm  in  the  room,  and  the  sounds  from  the 
street  were  muffled  and  far  away. 

"Signer  Nino,"  said  the  lady  at  last,  in  a  different 
voice,  "I  am  married." 

"Yes,  signora,"  he  replied,  wondering  what  was 
to  come  next. 

"It  would  be  very  foolish  of  me  to  care  for  you." 

"It  would  also  be  very  wicked,"  he  said  calmly; 
for  he  is  well  grounded  in  religion.  The  baroness 
stared  at  him  in  some  surprise ;  but  seeing  he  was 
perfectly  serious,  she  went  on. 

"  Precisely,  as  you  say,  very  wicked.  That  being 
the  case,  I  have  decided  not  to  care  for  you  any  more 
—  I  mean,  not  to  care  for  you  at  all.  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  be  your  friend." 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  your  ladyship,"  he  an 
swered,  without  moving  a  muscle.  For  you  see,  he 
did  not  believe  her. 

"  Now  tell  me,  then,  Signor  Nino,  are  you  in  ear 
nest  in  what  you  are  doing  ?  Do  you  really  set  your 
heart  on  doing  this  thing  ?  " 

"What?"  asked  Nino,  annoyed  at  the  persistence 
of  the  woman. 

"  Why  need  you  be  afraid  to  understand  me  ?  Can 
you  not  forgive  me  ?  Can  you  not  believe  in  me, 
that  I  will  be  your  friend  ?  I  have  always  dreamed 
of  being  the  friend  of  a  great  artist.  Let  me  be 


T6  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

yours,  and  believe  me,  the  thing  you  have  in  your 
heart  shall  be  done." 

" I  should  like  to  hope  so,"  he  said.  But  he  smiled 
incredulously.  "  I  can  only  say  that  if  you  can  ac 
complish  what  it  is  in  my  heart  to  do,  I  will  go 
through  fire  and  water  at  your  bidding;  and  if  you 
are  not  mocking  me,  I  am  very  grateful  for  the  offer. 
But  if  you  please,  signora,  we  will  not  speak  any 
more  of  this  at  present.  I  may  be  a  great  artist, 
some  day.  Sometimes  I  feel  sure  that  I  shall.  But 
now  I  am  simply  Giovanni  Cardegna,  teacher  of  lit 
erature;  and  the  highest  favour  you  can  confer  on 
me  is  not  to  deprive  me  of  my  means  of  support,  by 
revealing  to  the  Conte  di  Lira  my  other  occupation. 
I  may  fail  hopelessly  at  the  outset  of  my  artistic 
career,  and  in  that  case  I  shall  certainly  remain  a 
teacher  of  language." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  baroness,  in  a  subdued 
voice ;  for,  in  spite  of  her  will  and  wilfulness,  this 
square-faced  boy  of  mine  was  more  than  a  match  for 
her.  "  Very  well,  you  will  believe  me  another  day, 
and  now  I  must  ask  you  to  go,  for  I  am  tired." 

I  cannot  be  interrupted  by  your  silly  questions 
about  the  exact  way  in  which  things  happened.  I 
must  tell  this  story  in  my  own  way,  or  not  at  all; 
and  I  am  sacrificing  a  great  deal  to  your  taste  in  cut 
ting  out  all  the  little  things  I  really  most  enjoy  tell 
ing.  Whether  you  are  astonished  at  the  conduct 
of  the  baroness,  after  a  three  weeks'  acquaintance,  or 
not,  I  care  not  a  fig.  It  is  just  the  way  it  happened, 
and  I  dare  say  she  was  really  madly  in  love  with 
Nino.  If  I  had  been  Nino,  I  should  have  been  in 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  77 

love  with  her.  But  I  should  like  you  to  admire  my 
boy's  audacity,  and  to  review  the  situation,  before  1 
go  on  to  speak  of  that  important  event  in  his  life,  his 
first  appearance  on  the  boards  of  the  opera.  At  the 
time  of  his  de*but  he  was  still  disguised  as  a  teacher 
of  Italian  to  the  young  contessina.  She  thought  him 
interesting  and  intelligent,  but  that  was  all.  Her 
thoughts  were  entirely,  though  secretly,  engrossed 
by  the  mysterious  singer,  whom  she  had  heard  twice, 
but  had  not  seen,  so  far  as  she  knew.  Nino,  on  the 
other  hand,  loved  her  to  desperation,  and  would 
have  acted  like  a  madman  had  he  been  deprived  of  his 
privilege  of  speaking  to  her  three  times  a  week.  He 
loved  her  with  the  same  earnest  determination  to 
win  her  which  he  had  shown  for  years  in  the  study 
of  his  art,  and  with  all  the  rest  of  his  nature  besides, 
which  is  saying  much  —  not  to  mention  his  soul,  of 
which  he  thinks  a  great  deal  more  than  I  do. 

Besides  this,  the  baroness  had  apparently  fallen  in 
love  with  him,  had  made  him  her  intimate,  and  flat 
tered  him  in  a  way  to  turn  his  head.  Then  she 
seemed  to  have  thought  better  of  her  passion,  and 
had  promised  him  her  friendship,  —  a  promise  which 
he  himself  considered  of  no  importance  whatever. 
As  for  the  old  Conte  di  Lira,  he  read  the  German 
newspapers,  and  cared  for  none  of  these  things.  De 
Pretis  took  an  extra  pinch  of  his  good  snuff,  when 
he  thought  that  his  liberal  ideas  might  yet  be  real 
ised,  and  a  man  from  the  people  marry  a  great  lady 
by  fairly  winning  her.  Do  not,  after  this,  complain 
that  I  have  left  you  in  the  dark,  or  that  you  do  not 
know  how  it  happened.  It  is  as  clear  as  water,  and 


78  A   ROMAN    SINGER. 

it  was  about  four  months  from  the  time  Nino  saw 
Hedwig  in  St.  Peter's  to  the  time  when  he  first  sang 
in  public. 

Christmas  passed  by,  —  thank  Heaven,  the  munic 
ipality  has  driven  away  those  most  detestable  pif- 
ferari,  who  played  on  their  discordant  bagpipes  at 
every  corner  for  a  fortnight,  and  nearly  drove  me 
crazy,  —  and  the  Befana,  as  we  call  the  Epiphany  in 
Rome,  was  gone,  with  its  gay  racket,  and  the  night 
fair  in  the  Piazza  Navona,  and  the  days  for  Nino's 
first  appearance  drew  near.  I  never  knew  anything 
about  the  business  arrangements  for  the  debut,  since 
De  Pretis  settled  all  that  with  Jacovacci,  the  impre 
sario;  but  I  know  that  there  were  many  rehearsals, 
and  that  I  was  obliged  to  stand  security  to  the  the 
atrical  tailor,  together  with  De  Pretis,  in  order  that 
Nino  might  have  his  dress  made.  As  for  the  cowl 
in  the  last  act,  De  Pretis  has  a  brother  who  is  a 
monk,  and  between  them  they  put  together  a  very 
decent  friar's  costume;  and  Mariuccia  had  a  good 
piece  of  rope,  which  Nino  used  for  a  girdle. 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  he  said,  with  much  good 
sense.  "For  if  I  sing  well,  they  will  not  look  at  my 
monk's  hood ;  and  if  I  sing  badly,  I  may  be  dressed 
like  the  Holy  Father,  and  they  will  hiss  me  just  the 
same.  But  in  the  beginning  I  must  look  like  a 
courtier,  and  be  dressed  like  one." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  I;  "but  I  wish  you  had  taken 
'-,o  philosophy." 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  79 


CHAPTER   VI. 

I  SHALL  never  forget  the  day  of  Nino's  first  ap 
pearance.  You  may  imagine  whether  we  were  in  a 
state  of  excitement  or  not,  after  all  those  years  of 
study  and  waiting.  There  was  much  more  trouble 
and  worry  than  if  he  had  written  a  great  book,  and 
was  just  to  publish  it,  and  receive  the  homage  of  all 
the  learning  and  talent  in  Europe ;  which  is  the  kind 
of  de*but  I  had  hoped  he  would  make  in  life,  instead 
of  putting  on  a  foolish  dress,  and  stamping  about  on 
a  stage,  and  squalling  love  songs  to  a  packed  house, 
making  pantomime  with  his  hands,  and  altogether 
behaving  like  an  idiot,  —  a  crowd  of  people  ready  to 
hiss  him  at  the  slightest  indication  of  weakness,  or 
to  carry  him  on  their  shoulders  if  they  fancied  his 
voice  to  their  taste. 

No  wonder  Nino  was  sad  and  depressed  all  day, 
and  when  he  tried  his  voice  in  the  afternoon  thought 
it  was  less  clear  than  usual,  and  stared  at  himself  in 
the  looking-glass,  wondering  whether  he  were  not 
too  ugly  altogether,  as  I  always  told  him.  To  tell 
the  truth,  he  was  not  so  ugly  as  he  had  been ;  for  the 
months  with  the  contessina  had  refined  him  singu 
larly,  and  perhaps  he  had  caught  a  certain  grace  of 
manner  from  the  baroness.  He  had  grown  more 
silent,  too,  and  seemed  always  preoccupied,  as  well 


80  A  ROMAN   SINGEB. 

he  might  he;  hut  he  had  concealed  his  affair  with 
the  Lira  family  from  me  until  that  day,  and  I  sup 
posed  him  anxious  about  his  appearance. 

Early  in  the  morning  came  De  Pretis,  and  sug 
gested  that  it  would  be  better  for  Nino  to  take  a  walk 
and  breathe  the  fresh  air  a  little ;  so  I  bade  him  go, 
and  I  did  not  see  him  again  until  the  afternoon.  De 
Pretis  said  that  the  only  cause  for  anxiety  was  from 
stage  fright,  and  went  away  taking  snuff  and  flour 
ishing  his  immense  cotton  handkerchief.  I  thought 
a  man  must  be  a  fool  to  work  for  years  in  order  to 
sing,  and  then,  when  he  had  learned  to  do  it  quite 
well,  to  be  afraid  of  showing  what  he  knew.  I  did 
not  think  Nino  would  be  frightened. 

Of  course,  there  was  a  final  rehearsal  at  eleven, 
and  Nino  put  off  the  hour  of  the  lesson  with  the  con- 
tessina  to  three  in  the  afternoon,  by  some  excuse  or 
other.  He  must  have  felt  very  much  pressed  for 
time,  having  to  give  her  a  lesson  on  the  very  day  of 
his  coming  out ;  and  beside,  he  knew  very  well  that 
it  might  be  the  last  of  his  days  with  her,  and  that  a 
great  deal  would  depend  on  the  way  he  bore  himself 
at  his  trial.  He  sang  badly,  or  thought  he  did,  at 
the  rehearsal,  and  grew  more  and  more  depressed  and 
grave  as  the  day  advanced.  He  came  out  of  the  lit 
tle  stage  door  of  the  Apollo  theatre  at  Tordinona, 
and  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  broad  bills  and  posters 
announcing  the  first  appearance  of  "  Giovanni  Car- 
degna,  the  most  distinguished  pupil  of  the  Maestro 
Ercole  De  Pretis,  in  Donizetti's  opera  the  Favorita." 
His  heart  sank  at  the  sight  of  his  own  name,  and  he 
turned  towards  the  Bridge  of  Sant'  Angelo  to  get 


A   11OMAN   SINGER.  81 

away  from  it.  He  was  the  last  to  leave  the  theatre, 
and  De  Pretis  was  with  him. 

At  that  moment  he  saw  Hedwig  von  Lira  sitting 
in  an  open  carriage,  in  front  of  the  box  office.  De 
Pretis  bowed  low,  she  smiled,  and  Nino  took  off  his 
hat,  but  would  not  go  near  her,  escaping  in  the  oppo 
site  direction.  He  thought  she  looked  somewhat  sur 
prised,  but  his  only  idea  was  to  get  away,  lest  she 
should  call  him  and  put  some  awkward  question. 

An  hour  and  a  half  later  he  entered  her  sitting- 
room.  There  she  sat,  as  usual,  with  her  books,  await 
ing  him  perhaps  for  the  last  time,  a  fair,  girlish  figure 
with  gold  hair,  but  oh,  so  cold!  —  it  makes  me  shiver 
to  think  how  she  used  to  look.  Possibly  there  was 
a  dreaminess  about  her  blue  eyes  which  made  up  for 
her  manner;  but  how  Nino  could  love  her,  I  cannot 
understand.  It  must  have  been  like  making  love  to 
a  pillar  of  ice. 

"I  am  much  indebted  to  you  for  allowing  me  to 
come  at  this  hour,  signorina,"  he  said,  as  he  bowed. 

"  Ah,  professore,  it  looks  almost  as  though  it  were 
you  yourself  who  were  to  make  your  de*but,"  said 
she,  laughing  and  leaning  back  in  her  chair.  "  Your 
name  is  on  every  corner  in  Rome,  and  I  saw  you 
coming  out  of  a  side  door  of  the  theatre  this  morn 
ing."  Nino  trembled,  but  reflected  that  if  she  had 
suspected  anything  she  would  not  have  made  so  light 
of  it. 

"The  fact  is,  signorina,  my  cousin  is  so  nervous 
that  he  begged  me  earnestly  to  be  present  at  the 
rehearsal  this  morning ;  and  as  it  is  the  great  event 
of  his  life,  I  could  not  easily  refuse  him.  I  presume 


82  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

you  are  going  to  hear  him,  since  I  saw  your  carriage 
at  the  theatre." 

"  Yes.  At  the  last  minute,  my  father  wanted  to 
change  our  box  for  one  nearer  the  stage,  and  so  we 
went  ourselves.  The  baroness  — you  know,  the  lady 
who  went  with  us  to  the  Pantheon  —  is  going  with 
us  to-night." 

It  was  the  first  time  Hedwig  had  mentioned  her, 
and  it  was  evident  that  Nino's  intimacy  with  the 
baroness  had  been  kept  a  secret.  How  long  would 
it  be  so  ?  Mechanically  he  proceeded  with  the  les 
son,  thinking  mournfully  that  he  should  never  give 
her  another.  But  Hedwig  was  more  animated  than 
he  had  ever  seen  her,  and  often  stopped  to  ask  ques 
tions  about  the  coming  performance.  It  was  evident 
that  she  was  entirely  absorbed  with  the  thought  of 
at  last  hearing  to  its  fullest  extent  the  voice  that 
had  haunted  her  dreams;  most  of  all,  with  spec 
ulating  as  to  what  this  wonderful  singer  was  to  be 
like.  Dwelling  on  the  echo  of  his  singing  for 
months  had  roused  her  interest  and  curiosity  to  such 
a  pitch  that  she  could  hardly  be  quiet  a  moment,  or 
think  calmly  of  what  she  was  to  enjoy;  and  yet  she 
looked  so  very  cold  and  indifferent  at  most  times. 
But  Nino  had  noticed  all  this,  and  rejoiced  at  it; 
young  as  he  was,  however,  he  understood  that  the 
discovery  she  was  about  to  make  would  be  a  shock 
that  must  certainly  produce  some  palpable  result, 
when  she  should  see  him  from  her  box  in  the  theatre. 
He  trembled  for  the  consequences. 

The  lesson  was  over  all  too  soon,  and  Nino  lin 
gered  a  moment  to  see  whether  the  very  last  drops  of 


A   KOMAN   SINGER.  83 

his  cup  of  happiness  might  not  still  be  sweet.  He 
did  not  know  when  he  should  see  her  again,  to  speak 
with  her;  and  though  he  determined  it  should  not 
be  long,  the  future  seemed  very  uncertain,  and  he 
would  look  on  her  loveliness  while  he  might. 

"I  hope  you  will  like  my  cousin's  singing,"  he 
said,  rather  timidly. 

"  If  he  sings  as  he  has  sung  before,  he  is  the  great 
est  artist  living,"  she  said  calmly,  as  though  no  one 
would  dispute  it.  "  But  I  am  curious  to  see  him,  as 
well  as  to  hear  him." 

"He  is  not  handsome,"  said  Nino,  smiling  a  little. 
"  In  fact,  there  is  a  family  resemblance ;  he  is  said 
to  look  like  me." 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  before?"  she  asked 
quickly,  and  fixed  her  blue  eyes  on  Nino's  face,  as 
though  she  wished  to  photograph  the  features  in  her 
mind. 

"  I  did  not  suppose  the  signorina  would  think  twice 
about  a  singer's  appearance,"  said  Nino  quietly. 
Hedwig  blushed  and  turned  away,  busying  herself 
with  her  books.  At  that  moment  Graf  von  Lira 
entered  from  the  next  room.  Nino  bowed. 

"Curious  is  it,"  said  the  count,  "that  you  and  the 
about-to-make-his-appearance  tenor  should  the  same 
name  have." 

"  He  is  a  near  relation,  Signor  Conte,  —  the  same 
whom  you  heard  sing  in  the  Pantheon.  I  hope  you 
will  like  his  voice." 

"That  is  what  we  shall  see,  Signor  Professore," 
answered  the  other  severely.  He  had  a  curious  way 
of  bowing,  as  though  he  were  made  only  in  two 


84  A    ROMAN   SINGER. 

pieces,  from  his  waist  to  his  heels,  and  from  his 
waist  to  the  crown  of  his  head.  Nino  went  his  way 
sadly,  and  wondering  how  Hedwig  would  look  when 
she  should  recognise  him  from  her  box  in  the  theatre, 
that  very  evening. 

It  is  a  terrible  and  a  heart-tearing  thing  to  part 
from  the  woman  one  loves.  That  is  nothing  new, 
you  say.  Every  one  knows  that.  Perhaps  so, 
though  I  think  not.  Only  those  can  know  it  who 
have  experienced  it,  and  for  them  no  explanations 
are  in  any  way  at  all  necessary.  The  mere  word 
"parting"  calls  up  such  an  infinity  of  sorrow  that  it 
is  better  to  draw  a  veil  over  the  sad  thing  and  bury 
it  out  of  sight,  and  put  upon  it  the  seal  on  which  is 
graven  "No  Hope." 

Moreover,  when  a  man  only  supposes,  as  Nino  did, 
that  he  is  leaving  the  woman  he  loves,  or  is  about 
to  leave  her,  until  he  can  devise  some  new  plan  for 
seeing  her,  the  case  is  not  so  very  serious.  Never 
theless,  Nino,  who  is  of  a  very  tender  constitution  of 
the  affections,  suffered  certain  pangs  which  are  al 
ways  hard  to  bear,  and  as  he  walked  slowly  down  the 
street  he  hung  his  head  low,  and  did  not  look  like 
a  man  who  could  possibly  be  successful  in  anything 
he  might  undertake  that  day.  Yet  it  was  the  most 
important  day  of  his  life,  and  had  it  not  been  that  he 
had  left  Hedwig  with  little  hope  of  ever  giving  her 
another  lesson,  he  would  have  been  so  happy  that  the 
whole  air  would  have  seemed  dancing  with  sunbeams 
and  angels  and  flowers.  I  think  that  when  a  man 
loves  he  cares  very  little  for  what  he  does.  The 
greatest  success  is  indifferent  to  him,  and  he  cares 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  85 

not  at  all  for  failure,  in  the  ordinary  undertakings 
of  life.  These  are  my  reflections,  and  they  are  worth 
something,  because  I  once  loved  very  much  myself, 
and  was  parted  from  her  I  loved  many  times,  before 
the  last  parting. 

It  was  on  this  day  that  Nino  came  to  me  and  told 
me  all  the  history  of  the  past  months,  of  which  I 
knew  nothing;  but,  as  you  know  all  about  it,  I  need 
not  tell  you  what  the  conversation  was  like,  until  he 
had  finished.  Then  I  told  him  he  was  the  prince  and 
chief  of  donkeys,  which  was  no  more  than  the  truth, 
as  everybody  will  allow.  He  only  spread  out  his 
palms  and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  putting  his  head 
on  one  side,  as  though  to  say  he  could  not  help  it. 

"  Is  it  perhaps  my  fault  that  you  are  a  little  don 
key?"  I  asked;  for  you  may  imagine  whether  I  was 
angry  or  not. 

"Certainly  not,  Sor  Cornelio,"  he  said.  "It  is 
entirely  my  own  doing  but  I  do  not  see  that  I  am  a 
donkey." 

"  Blood  of  Bacchus !  "  I  ejaculated,  holding  up  my 
hands.  "He  does  not  believe  he  is  a  great  stupid!  " 
But  Nino  was  not  angry  at  all.  He  busied  himself 
a  little  with  his  costume,  which  was  laid  out  on  the 
piano,  with  the  sword  and  the  tinsel  collar,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it. 

"I  am  in  love,"  he  said.  "What  would  you 
have?" 

"I  would  have  you  put  a  little  giudizio,  just  a 
grain  of  judgment  and  common  sense,  into  your  love 
affairs.  Why,  you  go  about  it  as  though  it  were  the 
most  innocent  thing  in  the  world  to  disguise  your- 


86  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

self,  and  present  yourself  as  a  professor  in  a  noble 
man's  house,  in  order  to  make  love  to  his  daughter! 
You,  to  make  love  to  a  noble  damigella,  a  young 
countess,  with  a  fortune!  Go  back  to  Serveti,  and 
marry  the  first  contadina  girl  you  meet ;  it  is  much 
more  fitting,  if  you  must  needs  marry  at  all.  I  re 
peat  it,  you  are  an  ignorant  donkey!  " 

"Eh!"  cried  Nino,  perfectly  unmoved,  "if  I  am 
ignorant,  it  is  not  for  lack  of  your  teaching;  and  as 
for  being  the  beast  of  burden  to  which  you  refer,  I 
have  heard  it  said  that  you  were  once  in  love  your 
self.  Meanwhile,  I  have  told  you  this,  because  there 
will  perhaps  be  trouble,  and  I  did  not  intend  you  to 
be  surprised." 

"Surprised?"  said  I.  "I  should  not  be  surprised 
at  anything  you  might  fancy  doing,  now.  No,  I 
should  not  dream  of  being  surprised!  " 

"So  much  the  better,"  answered  Nino  imperturb- 
ably.  He  looked  sad  and  weary,  though,  and  as  I 
am  a  prudent  man  I  put  my  anger  away  to  cool  for 
a  little  while,  and  indulged  in  a  cigar  until  it  should 
be  time  to  go  to  the  theatre;  for  of  course  I  went 
with  him,  and  Mariuccia  too,  to  help  him  with  his 
dress.  Poor  old  Mariuccia!  she  had  dressed  him 
when  he  was  a  ragged  little  boy,  and  she  was  deter 
mined  to  put  the  finishing  touches  to  his  appearance 
now  that  he  was  about  to  be  a  great  man,  she  said. 
His  dressing-room  was  a  narrow  little  place,  suffi 
ciently  ill  lighted,  and  there  was  barely  space  to  turn 
round.  Mariuccia,  who  had  brought  the  cat  and  had 
her  pocket  full  of  roasted  chestnuts,  sat  outside  on  a 
chair  until  he  was  ready  for  her;  and  I  am  sure  that 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  87 

if  she  had  spent  her  life  in  the  profession  of  adorn 
ing  players  she  could  not  have  used  her  fingers  more 
deftly  in  the  arrangement  of  the  collar  and  sword. 
Nino  had  a  fancy  to  wear  a  moustache  and  a  pointed 
beard  through  the  first  part  of  the  opera ;  saying  that 
a  courtier  always  had  hair  on  his  face,  but  that  he 
would  naturally  shave  if  he  turned  monk.  I  repre 
sented  to  him  that  it  was  a  needless  expense,  since 
he  must  deposit  the  value  of  the  false  beard  with  the 
theatre  barber,  who  lives  opposite;  and  it  was 
twenty-three  francs.  Besides,  he  would  look  like  a 
different  man  —  two  separate  characters. 

"I  do  not  care  a  cabbage  for  that,"  said  Nino. 
"If  they  cannot  recognise  me  with  their  ears,  they 
need  not  trouble  themselves  to  recognise  me  at  all." 

"It  is  a  fact  that  their  ears  are  quite  long  enough," 
said  Mariuccia. 

"Hush,  Mariuccia!"  I  said.  "The  Roman  public 
is  the  most  intelligent  public  in  the  world."  And 
at  this  she  grumbled 

But  I  knew  well  enough  why  he  wanted  to  wear 
the  beard.  He  had  a  fancy  to  put  off  the  evil  mo 
ment  as  long  as  possible,  so  that  Hedwig  might  not 
recognise  him  till  the  last  act,  —  a  foolish  fancy,  in 
truth,  for  a  woman's  eyes  are  not  like  a  man's;  and 
though  Hedwig  had  never  thought  twice  about  Nino's 
personality,  she  had  not  sat  opposite  him  three  times 
a  week  for  nearly  four  months  without  knowing  all 
his  looks  and  gestures.  It  is  an  absurd  idea,  too, 
to  attempt  to  fence  with  time,  when  a  thing  must 
come  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two.  What  is  it, 
after  all,  the  small  delay  you  can  produce?  The 


Or  THF 


88  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

click  of  a  few  more  seconds  in  the  clock-work,  before 
the  hammer  smites  its  angry  warning  on  the  bell, 
and  leaves  echoes  of  pain  writhing  through  the  poor 
bronze,  —  that  is  Time.  As  for  Eternity,  it  is  a 
question  of  the  calculus,  and  does  not  enter  into  a 
singer's  first  appearance,  nor  into  the  recognition  ol 
a  lover.  If  it  did,  I  would  give  you  an  eloquent 
dissertation  upon  it,  so  that  you  would  yawn  and 
take  snuff,  and  wish  me  carried  off  by  the  diavolo 
to  some  place  where  I  might  lecture  on  the  infinite 
without  fear  of  being  interrupted,  or  of  keeping  sin 
ners  like  you  unnecessarily  long  awake.  There  will 
be  no  hurry  then.  Poor  old  diavolo!  He  must  have 
a  dull  time  of  it  among  all  those  heretics.  Perhaps 
he  has  a  little  variety,  for  they  say  he  has  written  up 
on  his  door,  "Ici  Ton  parle  fran^ais,"  since  Monsieur 
de  Voltaire  died.  But  I  must  go  on,  or  you  will 
never  be  any  wiser  than  you  are  now,  which  is  not 
saying  overmuch. 

I  am  not  going  to  give  you  a  description  of  the 
Favorita,  which  you  may  hear  a  dozen  times  a  year 
at  the  theatre,  for  more  or  less  money  —  but  it  is 
only  a  franc  if  you  stand;  quite  enough,  too.  I 
went  upon  the  stage  before  it  began,  and  peeped 
through  the  curtain  to  see  what  kind  of  an  audience 
there  was.  It  is  an  old  curtain,  and  there  is  a  hole 
in  it  on  the  right-hand  side,  which  De  Pretis  says 
was  made  by  a  foreign  tenor,  some  years  ago,  be 
tween  the  acts ;  and  Jacovacci,  the  impresario,  tried 
to  make  him  pay  five  francs  to  have  it  repaired,  but 
did  not  get  the  money.  It  is  a  better  hole  than  the 
one  in  the  middle,  which  is  so  far  from  both  sides  of 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  89 

the  house  that  you  cannot  see  the  people  well.  So 
I  looked  through,  and  there,  sure  enough,  in  a  box 
very  near  to  the  stage,  sat  the  Contessina  di  Lira  and 
the  baroness,  whom  I  had  never  seen  before,  but  rec 
ognised  from  Nino's  description;  and  behind  them 
sat  the  count  himself,  with  his  great  grey  moustaches 
and  a  white  cravat.  They  made  me  think  of  the 
time  when  I  used  to  go  to  the  theatre  myself  and  sit 
in  a  box,  and  applaud  or  hiss,  just  as  I  pleased. 
Dio  mio!  What  changes  in  this  world! 

I  recognised  also  a  great  many  of  our  noble  ladies, 
with  jewels  and  other  ornaments,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  some  of  them  were  much  more  beautiful  than 
the  German  contessina  whom  Nino  had  elected  to 
worship,  though  she  was  well  enough,  to  be  sure,  in 
white  silk  and  white  fur,  with  her  little  gold  cross 
at  her  throat.  To  think  that  a  statue  like  that, 
brought  up  with  all  the  proprieties,  should  have 
such  a  strange  chapter  of  life!  But  my  eye  began 
to  smart  from  peering  through  the  little  hole,  and 
just  then  a  rough-looking  fellow  connected  with  the 
stage  reminded  me  that,  whatever  relation  I  might  be 
to  the  primo  tenore,  I  was  not  dressed  to  appear  in 
the  first  act;  then  the  audience  began  to  stamp  and 
groan  because  the  performance  did  not  begin,  and  I 
went  away  again  to  tell  Nino  that  he  had  a  packed 
house.  I  found  De  Pretis  giving  him  blackberry 
syrup,  which  he  had  brought  in  a  bottle,  and  entreat 
ing  him  to  have  courage.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  Nino  had  the  more  courage  of  the  two ;  for  De 
Pretis  laughed  and  cried  and  blew  his  nose,  and  took 
snuff  with  his  great  fat  fingers,  and  acted  altogether 


90  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

like  a  poor  fool ;  while  Nino  sat  on  a  rush-bottomed 
chair  and  watched  Mariuccia,  who  was  stroking  the 
old  cat  and  nibbling  roasted  chestnuts,  declaring  all 
the  while  that  Nino  was  the  most  beautiful  object 
she  had  ever  seen.  Then  the  bass  and  the  baritone 
came,  together,  and  spoke  cheering  words  to  Nino, 
and  invited  him  to  supper  afterwards ;  but  he  thanked 
them  kindly,  and  told  them  that  he  was  expected  at 
home,  and  would  go  with  them  after  the  next  per 
formance  —  if  there  ever  were  a  "  next. "  He  thought 
he  might  fail  at  the  last  minute. 

Nino  had  judged  more  rightly  than  I,  when  he  sup 
posed  that  his  beard  and  moustaches  would  disguise 
him  from  Hedwig  during  the  first  two  acts.  She 
recognised  the  wondrous  voice,  and  she  saw  the 
strong  resemblance  he  had  spoken  of.  Once  or 
twice,  as  he  looked  toward  her,  it  seemed  indeed  that 
the  eyes  must  be  his,  with  their  deep  circles  and  seri 
ous  gaze.  But  it  was  absurd  to  suppose  it  anything 
more  than  a  resemblance.  As  the  opera  advanced, 
it  became  evident  that  Nino  was  making  a  success. 
Then  in  the  second  act  it  was  clear  that  the  success 
was  growing  to  be  an  ovation,  and  the  ovation  a 
furore,  in  which  the  house  became  entirely  demoral 
ised,  and  vouchsafed  to  listen  only  so  long  as  Nino 
was  singing  —  screaming  with  delight  before  he  had 
finished  what  he  had  to  sing  in  each  scene.  People 
sent  their  servants  away  in  hot  haste  to  buy  flowers 
wherever  they  could,  and  he  came  back  to  his  dress 
ing-room,  from  the  second  act,  carrying  bouquets  by 
the  dozen,  small  bunches  and  big,  such  as  people  had 
been  able  to  get,  or  had  brought  with  them.  His 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  91 

eyes  shone  like  the  coals  in  Mariuccia's  scaldino,  as 
he  entered,  and  he  was  pale  through  his  paint.  He 
could  hardly  speak  for  joy;  but,  as  old  habits  return 
unconsciously  at  great  moments  in  a  man's  life,  he 
took  the  cat  on  his  knee  and  pulled  its  tail. 

"Sing  thou  also,  little  beast,"  he  said  gravely; 
and  he  pulled  the  tail  till  the  cat  squeaked  a  little, 
and  he  was  satisfied. 

"Bene!  "  he  cried;  "and  now  for  the  tonsure  and 
frock."  So  Mariuccia  was  turned  out  into  the  pas 
sage  while  he  changed  his  dress.  De  Pretis  came 
back  a  moment  later,  and  tried  to  help  him ;  but  he 
was  so  much  overcome  that  he  could  only  shed  tears 
and  give  a  last  word  of  advice  for  the  next  act. 

"You  must  not  sing  it  too  loud,  Nino  mio,"  he 
said. 

"Diavolo!  "  said  Nino.     "I  should  think  not!  " 

"  But  you  must  not  squeak  it  out  in  a  little  wee 
false  voice,  as  small  as  this."  The  maestro  held  up 
his  thumb  and  finger,  with  a  pinch  of  snuff  between 
them. 

"  Bah !  Sor  Ercole,  do  you  take  me  for  a  soprano  ?  " 
cried  the  boy,  laughing,  as  he  washed  off  the  paint 
and  the  gum,  where  the  beard  had  stuck.  Presently 
he  got  into  his  frock,  which,  as  I  told  you,  was  a  real 
one,  provided  by  Ercole 's  brother,  the  Franciscan  — 
quite  quietly,  of  course,  for  it  would  seem  a  dread 
ful  thing  to  use  a  real  monk's  frock  in  an  opera. 
Then  we  fastened  the  rope  round  his  waist,  and 
smoothed  his  curly  hair  a  little  to  give  him  a  more 
pious  aspect.  He  looked  as  white  as  a  pillow  when 
the  paint  was  gone. 


92  A  HOMAN   SINGER. 

"Tell  me  a  little,  my  father,"  said  old  Mariuccia, 
mocking  him,  "  do  you  fast  on  Sundays,  that  you  look 
so  pale?" 

Whereat  Nino  struck  an  attitude,  and  began  sing 
ing  a  love  song  to  the  ancient  woman.  Indeed,  she 
was  joking  about  the  fast,  for  she  had  expended  my 
substance,  of  late,  in  fattening  Nino,  as  she  called  it, 
for  his  appearance,  and  there  were  to  be  broiled 
chickens  for  supper  that  very  night.  He  was  only 
pale  because  he  was  in  love.  As  for  me,  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  stand  in  the  slides,  so  that  I  could  see 
the  contessina ;  for  Nino  had  whispered  to  me  that 
she  had  not  yet  recognised  him,  though  she  stared 
hard  across  the  footlights.  Therefore  I  took  up  a 
good  position  on  the  left  of  the  stage,  facing  the  Lira 
box,  which  was  on  the  right. 

The  curtain  went  up,  and  Nino  stood  there,  look 
ing  like  a  real  monk,  with  a  book  in  his  hand  and 
his  eyes  cast  down,  as  he  began  to  walk  slowly  along. 
I  saw  Hedwig  von  Lira's  gaze  rest  on  his  square, 
pale  face  at  least  one  whole  minute.  Then  she  gave 
a  strange  little  cry,  so  that  many  people  in  the  house 
looked  toward  her;  and  she  leaned  far  back  in  the 
shadow  of  the  deep  box,  while  the  reflected  glare  of 
the  footlights  just  shone  faintly  on  her  features, 
making  them  look  more  like  marble  than  ever.  The 
baroness  was  smiling  to  herself,  amused  at  her  com 
panion's  surprise,  and  the  old  count  stared  stolidly 
for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then  turned  suddenly  to 
his  daughter. 

"  Very  curious  is  it,"  he  was  probably  saying,  "  that 
this  tenor  should  so  much  your  Italian  professor 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  93 

resemble."  I  could  almost  see  his  grey  eyes  sparkle 
angrily  across  the  theatre.  But  as  I  looked,  a  sound 
rose  on  the  heated  air,  the  like  of  which  I  have  never 
Known.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  not  heard  the  first 
two  acts,  for  I  did  not  suppose  there  was  any  great 
difference  between  Nino's  singing  on  the  stage  and 
his  singing  at  home,  and  I  still  wished  he  might 
have  chosen  some  other  profession.  But  when  I 
heard  this,  I  yielded,  at  least  for  the  time,  and  I  am 
not  sure  that  my  eyes  were  as  clear  as  usual. 

"  Spirto  gentil  dei  sogni  miei  "  —  the  long  sweet 
notes  sighed  themselves  to  death  on  his  lips,  falling 
and  rising  magically  like  a  mystic  angel  song,  and 
swaying  their  melody  out  into  the  world  of  lights 
and  listeners ;  so  pathetic,  so  heart-breaking,  so  laden 
with  death  and  with  love,  that  it  was  as  though  all 
the  sorrowing  souls  in  our  poor  Rome  breathed  in 
one  soft  sigh  together.  Only  a  poor  monk  dying  of 
love  in  a  monastery,  tenderly  and  truly  loving  to 
the  bitter  end.  Dio  mio!  There  are  perhaps  many 
such.  But  a  monk  like  this,  with  a  face  like  a  con 
queror,  set  square  in  its  whiteness,  and  yet  so 
wretched  to  see  in  his  poor  patched  frock  and  his 
bare  feet;  a  monk,  too,  not  acting  love,  but  really 
and  truly  ready  to  die  for  a  beautiful  woman  not 
thirty  feet  from  him,  in  the  house ;  above  all,  a  monk 
with  a  voice  that  speaks  like  the  clarion  call  of  the 
day  of  judgment  in  its  wrath,  and  murmurs  more 
plaintively  and  sadly  in  sorrow  than  ever  the  poor 
Peri  sighed  at  the  gates  of  Paradise  —  such  a  monk, 
what  could  he  not  make  people  feel  ? 

The  great  crowd  of  men  and  women  sat  utterly 


94  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

stilled  and  intent  till  he  had  sung  the  very  last  note. 
Not  a  sound  was  heard  to  offend  the  sorrow  that 
spoke  from  the  boy's  lips.  Then  all  those  people 
seemed  to  draw  three  long  breaths  of  wonder  —  a 
pause,  a  thrilling  tremor  in  the  air,  and  then  there 
ourst  to  the  roof  such  a  roar  of  cries,  such  a  huge 
chunder  of  hands  and  voices,  that  the  whole  house 
seemed  to  rock  with  it,  and  even  in  the  street  out 
side  they  say  the  noise  was  deafening. 

Alone  on  the  stage  stood  Nino,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
Hedwig  von  Lira  in  her  box.  I  think  that  she  alone 
of  all  that  multitude  made  no  sound,  but  only  gripped 
the  edge  of  the  balcony  hard  in  her  white  hands,  and 
leaned  far  forward  with  straining  eyes  and  beating 
heart  to  satisfy  her  wonder.  She  knew  well  enough, 
now,  that  there  was  no  mistake.  The  humble  little 
Professor  Cardegna,  who  had  patiently  explained 
Dante  and  Leopardi  to  her  for  months,  bowing  to  the 
ground  in  her  presence,  and  apologising  when  he 
corrected  her  mistakes,  as  though  his  whole  life  were 
to  be  devoted  to  teaching  foreigners  his  language; 
the  decently  clad  young  man,  who  was  always  pale, 
and  sometimes  pathetic  when  he  spoke  of  himself, 
was  no  other  than  Giovanni  Cardegna  the  tenor, 
singing  aloud  to  earth  and  heaven  with  his  glorious 
great  voice  —  a  man  on  the  threshold  of  a  European 
fame,  such  as  falls  only  to  the  lot  of  a  singer  or  a 
•onqueror.  More,  he  was  the  singer  of  her  dreams, 
who  had  for  months  filled  her  thoughts  with  music 
and  her  heart  with  a  strange  longing,  being  until 
now  a  voice  only.  There  he  stood  looking  straight 
at  her,  —  she  was  not  mistaken,  —  as  though  to  say, 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  95 

"I  have  done  it  for  you,  and  for  you  only."  A 
woman  must  be  more  than  marble  to  feel  no  pride  in 
the  intimate  knowledge  that  a  great  public  triumph 
has  been  gained  solely  for  her  sake.  She  must  be 
colder  than  ice  if  she  cannot  see  her  power  when  a 
conqueror  loves  her. 

The  marble  had  felt  the  fire,  and  the  ice  was  in 
the  flame  at  last.  Nino,  with  his  determination  to 
be  loved,  had  put  his  statue  into  a  very  fiery  fur 
nace,  and  in  the  young  innocence  of  his  heart  had 
prepared  such  a  surprise  for  his  lady  as  might  have 
turned  the  head  of  a  hardened  woman  of  the  world, 
let  alone  an  imaginative  German  girl,  with  a  taste 
for  romance  —  or  without ;  it  matters  little.  All  Ger 
mans  are  full  of  imagination,  and  that  is  the  reason 
they  know  so  much.  For  they  not  only  know  all 
that  is  known  by  other  people,  but  also  all  that  they 
themselves  imagine,  which  nobody  else  can  possibly 
know.  And  if  you  do  not  believe  this,  you  had 
better  read  the  works  of  one  Fichte,  a  philosopher. 

I  need  not  tell  you  any  more  about  Nino's  first 
appearance.  It  was  one  of  those  really  phenomenal 
successes  that  seem  to  cling  to  certain  people  through 
life.  He  was  very  happy  and  very  silent  when  it 
was  over;  and  we  were  the  last  to  leave  the  theatre, 
for  we  feared  the  enthusiasm  of  the  crowd.  So  we 
waited  till  every  one  had  gone,  and  then  marched 
home  together,  for  it  was  a  fine  night.  I  walked  on 
one  side  of  Nino,  and  De  Pretis  on  the  other,  all  of 
us  carrying  as  many  flowers  as  we  could ;  Mariuccia 
came  behind,  with  the  cat  under  her  shawl.  I  did 
not  discover  until  we  reached  home  why  she  had 


96  A   ROMAN  SINGER. 

brought  the  beast.  Then  she  explained  that,  as 
there  was  so  much  food  in  the  kitchen,  in  anticipa 
tion  of  our  supper,  she  had  been  afraid  to  leave  the 
cat  alone  in  the  house,  lest  we  should  find  nothing 
left  to  cat  when  we  returned.  This  was  sufficiently 
prudent,  for  a  scatter-brained  old  spendthrift  like 
Marinecia. 

That  was  a  merry  supper,  and  De  Pretis  became 
highly  dramatic  when  we  got  to  the  second  flask. 


A    i-<>  ,  '  '      ...:.  97 


CHAPTKR    Vfl. 

Ov  the  day  following  Nino's  de*but,  Maestro  Kroole 
de  P:  ;nd  him.se  If  in  h'  .  and  th<- 

ters  at  St.  Peter's  noticed  that  his  skull-cap  was 
awry,  and  that  ho  sang  out  of  tune;  and  once  he 
tried  to  take  a  pinch  of  snuff  when  there  was  only  a 
three  bare'  rest  in  the  music,  so  that  IS  jfcead  of 
ing  C  sharp  he  snee/ed  very  loud.  Then  all  the 
other  singers  giggled,  and  said  "Salute!"  —  which 
we  always  say  to  a  person  who  sneezes  —  quite 
audibly. 

It  v/as  not  that  Krcole  had  heard  anything  from  the 
Graf  von  Lira  as  yet;  but  he  expected  to  hear,  and 
did  not  relish  the  prospect.  Indeed,  how  could  the 
Prussian  gentleman  fail  to  resent  what  the  maestro 
done,  in  introducing  to  him  a  singer  disguised 
as  a  teacher?  It  chanced,  also,  that  the  contessina 
took  a  singing  lesson  that  very  day  in  the  afternoon, 
and  it  was  clear  that  the  reaping  of  his  evil  deeds 
was  not  far  off.  His  conscience  did  not  trouble  him 
at  all,  it  is  true,  for  I  have  told  you  that  he  has  lib 
eral  ideas  about  the  right  of  marriage;  but  his  vanity 
was  sorely  afflicted  at  the  idea  of  abandoning  such  a 
very  noble  and  creditable  pupil  as  the  Contessina  di 
Lira.  He  applauded  himself  for  furthering  Nino's 
wild  schemes,  and  he  blamed  himself  for  being  so 


98  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

reckless  about  his  own  interests.  Every  moment  he 
expected  a  formal  notice  from  the  count  to  discon 
tinue  the  lessons.  But  still  it  did  not  come,  and  at 
the  appointed  hour  Ercole's  wife  helped  him  to  put 
on  his  thick  winter  coat,  and  wrapped  his  comforter 
about  his  neck,  and  pulled  his  big  hat  over  his  eyes, 
—  for  the  weather  was  threatening,  —  and  sent  him 
trudging  off  to  the  Palazzo  Carmandola. 

Though  Ercole  is  stout  of  heart,  and  has  broad 
shoulders  to  bear  such  burdens  as  fall  to  his  lot,  he 
lingered  long  on  the  way,  for  his  presentiments  were 
gloomy;  and  at  the  great  door  of  the  palazzo  he  even 
stopped  to  inquire  of  the  porter  whether  the  contes- 
sina  had  been  seen  to  go  out  yet,  half  hoping  that 
she  would  thus  save  him  the  mortification  of  an 
interview.  But  it  turned  out  otherwise:  the  con- 
tessina  was  at  home,  and  De  Pretis  was  expected,  as 
usual,  to  give  the  lesson.  Slowly  he  climbed  the 
great  staircase,  and  was  admitted. 

"Good-day,  Sor  Maestro,"  said  the  liveried  foot 
man,  who  knew  him  well.  "The  Signor  Conte 
desires  to  speak  with  you  to-day,  before  you  go  to 
the  signorina." 

The  maestro's  heart  sank,  and  he  gripped  hard  the 
roll  of  music  in  his  hand  as  he  followed  the  servant 
to  the  count's  cabinet.  There  was  to  be  a  scene  of 
explanation,  after  all. 

The  count  was  seated  in  his  great  arm-chair,  in  a 
cloud  of  tobacco  smoke,  reading  a  Prussian  military 
journal.  His  stick  leaned  against  the  table  by  his  side, 
in  painful  contrast  with  the  glittering  cavalry  sabres 
crossed  upon  the  dark  red  wall  opposite.  The  tall 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  99 

windows  looked  out  on  the  piazza,  and  it  was  rain 
ing,  or  just  beginning  to  rain.  The  great  inkstand 
on  the  table  was  made  to  represent  a  howitzer,  and 
the  count  looked  as  though  he  were  ready  to  fire  it 
point-blank  at  any  intruder.  There  was  an  air  of 
disciplined  luxury  in  the  room,  that  spoke  of  a  rich 
old  soldier  who  fed  his  fancy  with  titbits  from  a  stir 
ring  past.  De  Pretis  felt  very  uncomfortable,  but 
the  nobleman  rose  to  greet  him,  as  he  rose  to  greet 
everything  above  the  rank  of  a  servant,  making  him 
self  steady  with  his  stick.  When  De  Pretis  was 
seated,  he  sat  down  also.  The  rain  pattered  against 
the  window. 

"  Signor  De  Pretis, "  began  the  count,  in  tones  as 
hard  as  chilled  steel,  "you  are  an  honourable  man." 
There  was  something  interrogative  in  his  voice. 

"  I  hope  so, "  answered  the  maestro  modestly ;  "  like 
other  Christians,  I  have  a  soul  "  — 

"  You  will  your  soul  take  care  of  in  your  leisure 
moments,"  interrupted  the  count.  "At  present  you 
have  no  leisure." 

"As  you  command,  Signor  Conte." 

"  I  was  yesterday  evening  at  the  theatre.  The  pro 
fessor  you  recommended  for  my  daughter  is  with  the 
new  tenor  one  person."  De  Pretis  spread  out  his 
hands  and  bowed,  as  if  to  deprecate  any  share  in  the 
transaction.  The  count  continued.  "You  are  of 
the  profession,  Signor  De  Pretis.  Evidently,  you  of 
this  were  aware." 

"It  is  true,"  assented  Ercole,  not  knowing  what 
to  say. 

"  Of  course  it  is  true.  I  am  therefore  to  hear  your 
explanation  disposed." 


100  A   KOMAN   SINGER. 

His  grey  eyes  fastened  sternly  on  the  maestro. 
But  the  latter  was  prepared,  for  he  had  long  foreseen 
that  the  count  would  one  day  be  disposed  to  hear  an 
explanation,  as  he  expressed  it. 

"It  is  quite  true,"  repeated  De  Pretis.  "The 
young  man  was  very  poor,  and  desired  to  support 
himself  while  he  was  studying  music.  He  was  well 
fitted  to  teach  our  literature,  and  I  recommended 
him.  I  hope  that,  in  consideration  of  his  poverty, 
and  because  he  turned  out  a  very  good  teacher,  you 
will  forgive  me,  Signer  Conte." 

"This  talented  singer  I  greatly  applaud,"  an 
swered  the  count  stiffly.  "As  a  with-the-capacity- 
and-learning-requisite-for-teaching-endowed  young 
man  deserves  he  also  some  commendation.  Also 
will  I  remember  his  laudable-and-not-lacking-inde- 
pendence  character.  Nevertheless,  unfitting  would 
it  be,  should  I  pay  the  first  tenor  of  the  opera  five 
francs  an  hour  to  teach  my  daughter  Italian  litera 
ture."  De  Pretis  breathed  more  freely. 

"  Then  you  will  forgive  me,  Signor  Conte,  for  en 
deavouring  to  promote  the  efforts  of  this  worthy 
young  man  in  supporting  himself?" 

"Signor  De  Pretis,"  said  the  count,  with  a  certain 
quaint  geniality,  "  I  have  my  precautions  observed. 
I  examined  Signor  Cardegna  in  Italian  literature  in 
my  own  person,  and  him  proficient  found.  Had  I 
found  him  to  be  ignorant,  and  had  I  his  talents  as 
an  operatic  singer  later  discovered,  I  would  you  out 
of  that  window  have  projected."  De  Pretis  was 
alarmed,  for  the  old  count  looked  as  though  he  might 
have  carried  out  the  threat.  "As  it  is,"  he  con- 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  101 

eluded,  "  you  are  an  honourable  man,  and  I  wish  you 
good-morning.  Lady  Hedwig  awaits  you,  as  usual." 
He  rose  courteously,  leaning  on  his  stick,  and  De 
Pretis  bowed  himself  out. 

He  expected  that  the  contessina  would  immediately 
begin  talking  of  Nino,  but  he  was  mistaken;  she 
never  once  referred  to  the  opera  or  the  singer,  and 
except  that  she  looked  pale  and  transparent,  and  sang 
with  a  trifle  less  interest  in  her  music  than  usual, 
there  was  nothing  noticeable  in  her  manner.  In 
deed,  she  had  every  reason  to  be  silent. 

Early  that  morning  Nino  received  by  a  messenger 
a  pretty  little  note,  written  in  execrable  Italian,  beg 
ging  him  to  come  and  breakfast  with  the  baroness  at 
twelve,  as  she  much  desired  to  speak  with  him  after 
his  stupendous  triumph  of  the  previous  night. 

Nino  is  a  very  good  boy,  but  he  is  mortal,  and 
after  the  excitement  of  the  evening  he  thought  noth 
ing  could  be  pleasanter  than  to  spend  a  few  hours  in 
that  scented  boudoir,  among  the  palms  and  the  beau, 
tiful  objects  and  the  perfumes,  talking  with  a  woman 
who  professed  herself  ready  to  help  him  in  his  love 
affair.  We  have  no  perfumes,  nor  cushions,  nor 
pretty  things  at  number  twenty-seven,  Santa  Catarina 
dei  Funari,  though  everything  is  very  bright  and 
neat  and  most  proper,  and  the  cat  is  kept  in  the 
kitchen,  for  the  most  part.  So  it  is  no  wonder  that 
he  should  have  preferred  to  spend  the  morning  with 
the  baroness. 

She  was  half  lying,  half  sitting,  in  a  deep  arm 
chair,  when  Nino  entered;  and  she  was  reading  a 
book.  When  she  saw  him  she  dropped  the  volume 


102  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

on  her  knee,  and  looked  up  at  him  from  under  her 
lids,  without  speaking.  She  must  have  been  a  be 
witching  figure.  Nino  advanced  toward  her,  bowing 
low,  so  that  his  dark  curling  hair  shaded  his  face. 

"Good-day,  signora,"  said  he  softly,  as  though 
fearing  to  hurt  the  quiet  air.  "I  trust  I  do  not 
interrupt  you?" 

"You  never  interrupt  me,  Nino,"  she  said,  "ex 
cept —  except  when  you  go  away." 

"You  are  very  good,  signora." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  no  pretty  speeches,"  said  she, 
with  a  little  laugh. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Nino,  seating  himself, 
"  that  it  was  you  who  made  the  pretty  speech,  and  I 
who  thanked  you  for  it."  There  was  a  pause. 

"How  do  you  feel?"  asked  the  baroness  at  last, 
turning  her  head  to  him. 

"Grazie  —  I  am  well,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  mean  that,  —  you  are  always  well. 
But  how  do  you  enjoy  your  first  triumph?" 

"I  think,"  said  Nino,  "that  a  real  artist  ought  to 
have  the  capacity  to  enjoy  a  success  at  the  moment, 
and  the  good  sense  to  blame  his  vanity  for  enjoying 
it  after  it  is  passed." 

"  How  old  are  you,  Nino  ?  " 

"Did  I  never  tell  you?"  he  asked,  innocently. 
"I  shall  be  twenty-one  soon." 

"You  talk  as  though  you  were  forty,  at  least." 

"  Heaven  save  us !  "  quoth  Nino. 

"  But  really,  are  you  not  immensely  flattered  at  the 
reception  you  had  ?  " 

"Yes." 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  10o 

"  You  did  not  look  at  all  interested  in  the  public 
at  the  time,"  said  she,  "and  that  Roman  nose  of 
yours  very  nearly  turned  up  in  disdain  of  the  ap 
plause,  I  thought.  I  wonder  what  you  were  think 
ing  of  all  the  while." 

"Can  you  wonder,  baronessa?"  She  knew  what 
he  meant,  and  there  was  a  little  look  of  annoyance 
in  her  face  when  she  answered. 

"Ah,  well,  of  course  not,  since  she  was  there." 
Her  ladyship  rose,  and  taking  a  stick  of  Eastern  pas 
til  from  a  majolica  dish  in  a  corner  made  Nino  light 
it  from  a  wax  taper. 

"I  want  the  smell  of  the  sandal-wood  this  morn 
ing,"  said  she;  "I  have  a  headache."  She  was  en 
chanting  to  look  at,  as  she  bent  her  softly-shaded  face 
over  the  flame  to  watch  the  burning  perfume.  She 
looked  like  a  beautiful  lithe  sorceress  making  a  love 
spell,  —  perhaps  for  her  own  use.  Nino  turned  from 
her.  He  did  not  like  to  allow  the  one  image  he 
loved  to  be  even  for  a  moment  disturbed  by  the  one 
he  loved  not,  however  beautiful.  She  moved  away, 
leaving  the  pastil  on  the  dish.  Suddenly  she  paused, 
and  turned  back  to  look  at  him. 

"Why  did  you  come  to-day?"  she  asked. 

"Because  you  desired  it, "answered  Nino,  in  some 
astonishment. 

"You  need  not  have  come,"  she  said,  bending 
down  to  lean  on  the  back  of  a  silken  chair.  She 
folded  her  hands,  and  looked  at  him  as  he  stood  not 
three  paces  away.  "Do  you  not  know  what  has 
happened?"  she  asked,  with  a  smile  that  was  a  little 


104  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

"I  do  not  understand,'*  said  Nino,  simply.  He 
was  facing  the  entrance  to  the  room,  and  saw  the  cur 
tains  parted  by  the  servant.  The  baroness  had  her 
back  to  the  door,  and  did  not  hear. 

"Do  you  not  know,"  she  continued,  "that  you  are 
free  now  ?  Your  appearance  in  public  has  put  an  end 
to  it  all.  You  are  not  tied  to  me  any  longer,  —  un 
less  you  wish  it." 

As  she  spoke  these  words  Nino  turned  white,  for 
under  the  heavy  curtain,  lifted  to  admit  her,  stood 
Hedwig  von  Lira,  like  a  statue,  transfixed  and  im 
movable  from  what  she  had  heard.  The  baroness 
noticed  Nino's  look,  and,  springing  back  to  her 
height  from  the  chair  on  which  she  had  been  leaning, 
faced  the  door. 

"  My  dearest  Hedwig !  "  she  cried,  with  a  magnif 
icent  readiness.  "  I  am  so  very  glad  you  have  come. 
I  did  not  expect  you  in  the  least.  Do  take  off  your 
hat,  and  stay  to  breakfast.  Ah,  forgive  me :  this  is 
Professor  Cardegna.  But  you  know  him?  Yes; 
now  that  I  think,  we  all  went  to  the  Pantheon 
together."  Nino  bowed  low,  and  Hedwig  bent  her 
head. 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  girl,  coldly.  "Professor 
Cardegna  gives  me  lessons." 

"Why,  of  course;  how  stupid  I  am!  I  was  just 
telling  him  that,  since  he  has  been  successful,  and 
is  enrolled  among  the  great  artists,  it  is  a  pity  he  is 
no  longer  tied  to  giving  Italian  lessons,  —  tied  to 
coming  here  three  times  a  week,  to  teach  me  litera 
ture."  Hedwig  smiled  a  strange,  icy  smile,  and  sat 
down  by  the  window.  Nino  was  still  utterly  aston- 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  105 

ished,  but  he  would  not  allow  the  baroness's  quibble 
to  go  entirely  uncontradicted. 

"In  truth,"  he  said,  "the  Signora  Baronessa's  les 
sons  consisted  chiefly  " 

"In  teaching  me  pronunciation,"  interrupted  the 
baroness,  trying  to  remove  Hedwig's  veil  and  hat, 
somewhat  against  the  girl's  inclination.  "  Yes,  you 
see  how  it  is.  I  know  a  little  of  singing,  but  I  can 
not  pronounce,  —  not  in  the  least.  Ah,  these  Italian 
vowels  will  be  the  death  of  me !  But  if  there  is  any 
one  who  can  teach  a  poor  dilettante  to  pronounce 
them,"  she  added,  laying  the  hat  away  on  a  chair,  and 
pushing  a  footstool  to  Hedwig's  feet,  "  that  some  one 
is  Sign  or  Cardegna." 

By  this  time  Nino  had  recognised  the  propriety  of 
temporising;  that  is  to  say,  of  letting  the  baroness's 
fib  pass  for  what  it  was  worth,  lest  the  discussion  of 
the  subject  should  further  offend  Hedwig,  whose 
eyes  wandered  irresolutely  toward  him,  as  though 
she  would  say  something  if  he  addressed  her. 

"I  hope,  signorina,"  he  said,  "that  it  is  not  quite 
as  the  baroness  says.  I  trust  our  lessons  are  not  at 
an  end?"  He  knew  very  well  that  they  were. 

"I  think,  Signor  Cardegna,"  said  Hedwig,  with 
more  courage  than  was  to  have  been  expected  from 
such  a  mere  child,  —  she  is  twenty,  but  Northern 
people  are  not  grown  up  till  they  are  thirty,  at  least, 
—  "I  think  it  would  have  been  more  obliging  if, 
when  I  asked  you  so  much  about  your  cousin,  you  had 
acknowledged  that  you  had  no  cousin,  and  that  the 
singer  was  none  other  than  yourself."  She  blushed, 
perhaps,  but  the  curtain  of  the  window  hid  it. 


106  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

"Alas,  signorina,"  answered  Nino,  still  standing 
before  her,  "such  a  confession  would  have  deprived 
me  of  the  pleasure  —  of  the  honour  of  giving  you 
lessons." 

"And  pray,  Signora  Cardegna,"  put  in  the  baron 
ess,  "what  are  a  few  paltry  lessons,  compared  with 
the  pleasure  you  ought  to  have  experienced  in  satis 
fying  the  Contessina  di  Lira's  curiosity?  Really, 
you  have  little  courtesy." 

Nino  shrank  into  himself,  as  though  he  were  hurt, 
and  he  gave  the  baroness  a  look  which  said  worlds. 
She  smiled  at  him,  in  joy  of  her  small  triumph,  for 
Hedwig  was  looking  at  the  floor  again,  and  could  not 
see.  But  the  young  girl  had  strength  in  her,  for 
all  her  cold  looks  and  white  cheek. 

"You  can  atone,  Signer  Cardegna,"  she  said. 
Nino's  face  brightened. 

"How,  signorina?"  he  asked. 

"By  singing  to  us  now,"  said  Hedwig.  The  bar 
oness  looked  grave,  for  she  well  knew  what  a  power 
Nino  wielded  with  his  music. 

"Do  not  ask  him,"  she  protested.  "He  must  be 
tired,  —  tired  to  death,  with  all  he  went  through  last 
night." 

"Tired?"  ejaculated  Nino,  with  some  surprise. 
"I  tired?  I  was  never  tired  in  my  life,  of  singing. 
I  will  sing  as  long  as  you  will  listen." 

He  went  to  the  piano.  As  he  turned,  the  baron 
ess  laid  her  hand  on  Hedwig's,  affectionately,  as 
though  sympathising  with  something  she  supposed 
to  be  passing  in  the  girl's  mind.  But  Hedwig  was 
passive,  unless  a  little  shudder  at  the  first  touch  of 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  107 

the  baroness's  fingers  might  pass  for  a  manifestation 
of  feeling.  Hedwig  had  hitherto  liked  the  baroness, 
finding  in  her  a  woman  of  a  certain  artistic  sense, 
combined  with  a  certain  originality.  The  girl  was 
mi  absolute  contrast  to  the  woman,  and  admired  in 
her  the  qualities  she  thought  lacking  in  herself, 
though  she  possessed  too  much  self-respect  to  attempt 
to  acquire  them  by  imitation.  Hedwig  sat  like  a 
Scandinavian  fairy  princess  on  the  summit  of  a  glass 
hill ;  her  friend  roamed  through  life  like  a  beautiful 
soft-footed  wild  animal,  rejoicing  in  the  sense  of 
being,  and  sometimes  indulging  in  a  little  playful 
destruction  by  the  way.  The  girl  had  heard  a  voice 
in  the  dark,  singing,  and  ever  since  then  she  had 
dreamed  of  the  singer;  but  it  had  never  entered  her 
mind  to  confide  to  the  baroness  her  strange  fancies. 
An  undisciplined  imagination,  securely  shielded 
from  all  outward  disturbing  causes,  will  do  much 
with  a  voice  in  the  dark,  —  a  great  deal  more  than 
such  a  woman  as  the  baroness  might  imagine. 

I  do  not  know  enough  about  these  blue-eyed  Ger 
man  girls  to  say  whether  or  not  Hedwig  had  ever 
before  thought  of  her  unknown  singer  as  an  unknown 
lover.  But  the  emotions  of  the  previous  night  had 
shaken  her  nerves  a  little,  and  had  she  been  older 
than  she  was  she  would  have  known  that  she  loved 
her  singer,  in  a  distant  and  maidenly  fashion,  as 
soon  as  she  heard  the  baroness  speak  of  him  as  hav 
ing  been  her  property.  And  now  she  was  angry  with 
herself,  and  ashamed  of  feeling  any  interest  in  a  man 
who  was  evidently  tied  to  another  woman  by  some 
intrigue  she  could  not  comprehend.  Her  coming  to 


108  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

visit  the  baroness  had  been  as  unpremeditated  as  it 
was  unexpected,  that  morning,  and  she  bitterly  re 
pented  it;  but  being  of  good  blood  and  heart,  she 
acted  as  boldly  as  she  could,  and  showed  no  little 
tact  in  making  Nino  sing,  and  thus  cutting  short  a 
painful  conversation.  Only  when  the  baroness  tried 
to  caress  her  and  stroke  her  hand  she  shrank  away, 
and  the  blood  mantled  up  to  her  cheeks.  Add  to  all 
this  the  womanly  indignation  she  felt  at  having  been 
so  long  deceived  by  Nino,  and  you  will  see  that  she 
was  in  a  very  vacillating  frame  of  mind. 

The  baroness  was  a  subtle  woman,  reckless  and 
diplomatic  by  turns,  and  she  was  not  blind  to  the 
sudden  repulse  she  met  with  from  Hedwig,  unspoken 
though  it  was.  But  she  merely  withdrew  her  hand, 
and  sat  thinking  over  the  situation.  What  she 
thought,  no  one  knows;  or,  at  least,  we  can  only 
guess  it  from  what  she  did  afterwards.  As  for  me, 
I  have  never  blamed  her  at  all,  for  she  is  the  kind  of 
woman  I  should  have  loved.  In  the  mean  time  Nino 
caroled  out  one  love  song  after  another.  He  saw, 
however,  that  the  situation  was  untenable,  and  after 
a  while  he  rose  to  go.  Strange  to  say,  although  the 
baroness  had  asked  Nino  to  breakfast,  and  the  hour 
was  now  at  hand,  she  made  no  effort  to  retain  him. 
But  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  said  many  flattering 
and  pleasing  things,  which,  however,  neither  flat 
tered  nor  pleased  him.  As  for  Hedwig,  she  bent  her 
head  a  little,  but  said  nothing,  as  he  bowed  before 
her.  Nino  therefore  went  home  with  a  heavy  heart, 
longing  to  explain  to  Hedwig  why  he  had  been  tied 
to  the  baroness,  —  that  it  was  the  price  of  her  silence 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  109 

and  of  the  privilege  he  had  enjoyed  of  giving  lessons 
to  thecontessina;  but  knowing,  also,  that  all  explana 
tion  was  out  of  the  question  for  the  present.  When 
he  was  gone,  Hedwig  and  the  baroness  were  left 
together. 

"It  must  have  been  a  great  surprise  to  you,  my 
dear,"  said  the  elder  lady  kindly. 

"What?" 

"  That  your  little  professor  should  turn  out  a  great 
artist  in  disguise.  It  was  a  surprise  to  me,  too,  — 
ah,  another  illusion  destroyed.  Dear  child!  You 
have  still  so  many  illusions,  —  beautiful,  pure  illu 
sions.  Dieu !  how  I  envy  you !  "  They  generally 
talked  French  together,  though  the  baroness  knows 
German.  Hedwig  laughed  bravely. 

"I  was  certainly  astonished,"  she  said.  "Poor 
man!  I  suppose  he  did  it  to  support  himself.  He 
never  told  me  he  gave  you  lessons,  too."  The  bar 
oness  smiled,  but  it  was  from  genuine  satisfaction 
this  time. 

"  I  wonder  at  that,  since  he  knew  we  were  intimate, 
or,  at  least,  that  we  were  acquainted.  Of  course  I 
would  not  speak  of  it  last  night,  because  I  saw  your 
father  was  angry." 

"Yes,  he  was  angry.  I  suppose  it  was  natural," 
said  Hedwig. 

"  Perfectly  natural.  And  you,  my  dear,  were  you 
not  angry  too,  —  just  a  little  ?  " 

"I?  No.  Why  should  I  be  angry?  He  was  a 
very  good  teacher,  for  he  knows  whole  volumes  by 
heart;  and  he  understands  them,  too." 

Soon  they  talked  of  other  things,  and  the  baroness 


110  A   KOMAN   SINGER. 

was  very  affectionate.  But  though  Hedwig  saw  that 
her  friend  was  kind  and  most  friendly,  she  could  not 
forget  the  words  that  were  in  the  air  when  she 
chanced  to  enter,  nor  could  she  quite  accept  the 
plausible  explanation  of  them  which  the  baroness  had 
so  readily  invented.  For  jealousy  is  the  forerunner 
of  love,  and  sometimes  its  awakener.  She  felt  a 
rival  and  an  enemy,  and  all  the  hereditary  combative- 
ness  of  her  Northern  blood  was  roused. 

Nino,  who  was  in  no  small  perplexity,  reflected. 
He  was  not  old  enough  nor  observant  enough  to  have 
seen  the  breach  that  was  about  to  be  created  between 
the  baroness  and  Hedwig.  His  only  thought  was  to 
clear  himself  in  Hedwig's  eyes  from  the  imputation  of 
having  been  tied  to  the  dark  woman  in  any  way  save 
for  his  love's  sake.  He  at  once  began  to  hate  the 
baroness  with  all  the  ferocity  of  which  his  heart  was 
capable,  and  with  all  the  calm  his  bold,  square  face 
outwardly  expressed.  But  he  was  forced  to  take 
some  action  at  once,  and  he  could  think  of  nothing 
better  to  do  than  to  consult  De  Pretis. 

To  the  maestro  he  poured  out  his  woes  and  his 
plans.  He  exhibited  to  him  his  position  toward  the 
baroness  and  toward  Hedwig  in  the  clearest  light. 
He  conjured  him  to  go  to  Hedwig,  and  explain  that 
the  baroness  had  threatened  to  unmask  him,  and  thus 
deprive  him  of  his  means  of  support,  —  he  dared  not 
put  it  otherwise,  —  unless  he  consented  to  sing  for  her 
and  come  to  her  as  often  as  she  pleased.  To  explain, 
to  propitiate,  to  smooth,  —  in  a  word,  to  reinstate 
Nino  in  her  good  opinion. 

"Death  of  a  dog!"   exclaimed  De  Pretis;    "you 


A   ROMAN   SINGEil.  Ill 

do  not  ask  much!  After  you  have  allowed  your 
lady-love,  your  inamorata,  to  catch  you  saying  you 
are  bound  body  and  soul  to  another  woman,  —  and 
such  a  woman !  ye  saints,  what  a  beauty !  —  you  ask 
me  to  go  and  set  matters  right!  What  the  diavolo 
did  you  want  to  go  and  poke  your  nose  into  such  a 
mousetrap  for?  Via!  I  am  a  fool  to  have  helped 
you  at  all." 

"Very  likely,"  said  Nino  calmly.  "But  mean 
while  there  are  two  of  us,  and  perhaps  I  am  the 
greater.  You  will  do  what  I  ask,  maestro ;  is  it  not 
true?  And  it  was  not  I  who  said  it;  it  was  the 
baroness." 

"The  baroness  —  yes  —  and  may  the  maledictions 
of  the  inferno  overtake  her,"  said  De  Pretis,  casting 
up  his  eyes  and  feeling  in  his  coat-tail  pockets  for 
his  snuff-box.  Once,  when  Nino  was  younger,  he 
filled  Ercole's  snuff-box  with  soot  and  pepper,  so 
that  the  maestro  had  a  black  nose  and  sneezed  all 
day. 

What  could  Ercole  do  ?  It  was  true  that  he  had 
hitherto  helped  Nino.  Was  he  not  bound  to  con 
tinue  that  assistance?  I  suppose  so;  but  if  the  whole 
affair  had  ended  then,  and  this  story  with  it,  I  should 
not  have  cared  a  button.  Do  you  suppose  it  amuses 
me  to  tell  you  this  tale  ?  Or  that  if  it  were  not  for 
Nino's  good  name  I  would  ever  have  turned  myself 
into  a  common  story-teller?  Bah!  you  do  not  know 
me.  A  page  of  quaternions  gives  me  more  pleasure 
than  all  this  rubbish  put  together,  though  I  am  not 
averse  to  a  little  gossip  now  and  then,  of  an  evening, 
if  people  will  listen  to  my  details  and  fancies.  But 


112  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

those  are  just  the  things  people  will  not  listen  to. 
Everybody  wants  sensation  nowadays.  What  is  a 
sensation  compared  with  a  thought?  What  is  the 
convulsive  gesticulation  of  a  dead  frog's  leg  com 
pared  with  the  intellect  of  the  man  who  invented  the 
galvanic  battery,  and  thus  gave  fictitious  sensation 
to  all  the  countless  generations  of  dead  frogs'  legs 
that  have  since  been  the  objects  of  experiment?  Or 
if  you  come  down  to  so  poor  a  thing  as  mere  feeling, 
what  are  your  feelings  in  reading  about  Nino's  deeds 
compared  with  what  he  felt  in  doing  them?  I  am 
not  taking  all  this  trouble  to  please  you,  but  only 
for  Nino's  sake,  who  is  my  dear  boy.  You  are  of  no 
more  interest  or  importance  to  me  than  if  you  were 
so  many  dead  frogs ;  and  if  I  galvanise  your  sensa 
tions,  as  you  call  them,  into  an  activity  sufficient  to 
make  you  cry  or  laugh,  that  is  my  own  affair.  You 
need  not  say  "thank  you  "  to  me.  I  do  not  want  it. 
Ercole  will  thank  you,  and  perhaps  Nino  will  thank 
me,  but  that  is  different. 

I  will  not  tell  you  about  the  interview  which 
Ercole  had  with  Hedwig,  nor  how  skillfully  he  rolled 
up  his  eyes  and  looked  pathetic  when  he  spoke  of 
Nino's  poverty,  and  of  the  fine  part  he  had  played  in 
the  whole  business.  Hedwig  is  a  woman,  and  the 
principal  satisfaction  she  gathered  from  Ercole 's 
explanation  was  the  knowledge  that  her  friend  the 
baroness  had  lied  to  her  in  explaining  those  strange 
words  she  had  overheard.  She  knew  it,  of  course, 
by  instinct;  but  it  was  a  great  relief  to  be  told  the 
fact  by  some  one  else,  as  it  always  is,  even  when  one 
is  not  a  woman. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  118 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SEVERAL  days  passed  after  the  de*but  without  giv 
ing  Nino  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  Hedwig. 
He  probably  saw  her,  for  he  mingled  in  the  crowd  of 
dandies  in  the  Piazza  Colonna  of  an  afternoon,  hop 
ing  she  would  pass  in  her  carriage  and  give  him  a 
look.  Perhaps  she  did;  he  said  nothing  about  it, 
but  looked  calm  when  he  was  silent  and  savage  when 
he  spoke,  after  the  manner  of  passionate  people.  His 
face  aged  and  grew  stern  in  those  few  days,  so  that 
he  seemed  to  change  on  a  sudden  from  boy  to  man. 
But  he  went  about  his  business,  and  sang  at  the 
theatre  when  he  was  obliged  to ;  gathering  courage 
to  do  his  best  and  to  display  his  powers  from  the  con 
stant  success  he  had.  The  papers  were  full  of  his 
praises,  saying  that  he  was  absolutely  without  rival 
from  the  very  first  night  he  sang,  matchless  and 
supreme  from  the  moment  he  first  opened  his  mouth, 
and  all  that  sort  of  nonsense.  I  dare  say  he  is  now, 
but  he  could  not  have  been  really  the  greatest  singer 
living,  so  soon.  However,  he  used  to  bring  me  the 
newspapers  that  had  notices  of  him,  though  he  never 
appeared  to  care  much  for  them,  nor  did  he  ever  keep 
them  himself.  He  said  he  hankered  for  an  ideal  to 
which  he  would  never  attain ;  and  I  told  him  that  if 
he  was  never  to  attain  to  it  he  had  better  abandon 


114  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

the  pursuit  of  it  at  once.  But  he  represented  to  me 
that  the  ideal  was  confined  to  his  imagination, 
whereas  the  reality  had  a  great  financial  importance, 
since  he  daily  received  offers  from  foreign  managers 
to  sing  for  them,  at  large  advantage  to  himself,  and 
was  hesitating  only  in  order  to  choose  the  most  con 
venient.  This  seemed  sensible,  and  I  was  silent. 
Soon  afterwards  he  presented  me  with  a  box  of  cigars 
and  a  very  pretty  amber  mouthpiece.  The  cigars 
were  real  Havanas,  such  as  I  had  not  smoked  for 
years,  and  must  have  cost  a  great  deal. 

"You  may  not  be  aware,  Sor  Cornelio,"  he  said 
one  evening,  as  he  mixed  the  oil  and  vinegar  with 
the  salad,  at  supper,  "that  I  am  now  a  rich  man, 
or  soon  shall  be.  An  agent  from  the  London  opera 
has  offered  me  twenty  thousand  francs  for  the  season 
in  London,  this  spring." 

"  Twenty  thousand  francs !  "  I  cried  in  amazement. 
"  You  must  be  dreaming,  Nino.  That  is  just  about 
seven  times  what  I  earn  in  a  year  with  my  professor 
ship  and  my  writing." 

"No  dreams,  caro  mio.  I  have  the  offer  in  my 
pocket. " 

He  apparently  cared  no  more  about  it  than  if  he 
had  carried  twenty  thousand  roasted  chestnuts  in  his 
pocket. 

"  When  do  you  leave  us  ? "  I  asked,  when  I  was 
somewhat  recovered. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  shall  go,"  he  answered, 
sprinkling  some  pepper  on  his  lettuce. 

"  Not  sure !     Body  of  Diana,  what  a  fool  you  are ! '"' 

"Perhaps,"  said  he,  and  he  passed  me  the  dish. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  115 

Just  then,  Mariuccia  came  in  with  a  bottle  of  wine, 
and  we  said  no  more  about  it ;  for  Mariuccia  is  indis 
creet. 

Nino  thought  nothing  about  his  riches,  because 
he  was  racking  his  brains  for  some  good  expedient 
whereby  he  might  see  the  contessina  and  speak  with 
her.  He  had  ascertained  from  De  Pretis  that  the 
count  was  not  so  angry  as  he  had  expected,  and  that 
Hedwig  was  quite  satisfied  with  the  explanations  of 
the  maestro.  The  day  after  the  foregoing  conversa 
tion  he  wrote  a  note  to  her,  wherein  he  said  that  if 
the  Contessina  di  Lira  would  deign  to  be  awake  at 
midnight  that  evening  she  should  have  a  serenade 
from  a  voice  she  was  said  to  admire.  He  bid  Mariuc 
cia  carry  the  letter  to  the  Palazzo  Carmandola. 

At  half  past  eleven,  at  least  two  hours  after  sup 
per,  Nino  wrapped  himself  in  my  old  cloak,  and  took 
the  guitar  under  his  arm.  Rome  is  not  a  very  safe 
place  for  midnight  pranks,  and  so  I  made  him  take  a 
good  knife  in  his  waist-belt;  for  he  had  confided  to 
me  where  he  was  going.  I  tried  to  dissuade  him 
from  the  plan,  saying  he  might  catch  cold;  but  he 
laughed  at  me. 

A  serenade  is  an  every-day  affair,  and  in  the  street 
one  voice  sounds  about  as  well  as  another.  He 
reached  the  palace,  and  his  heart  sank  when  he  saw 
Hedwig's  window  dark  and  gloomy.  He  did  not 
know  that  she  was  seated  behind  it  in  a  deep  chair, 
wrapped  in  white  things,  and  listening  for  him 
against  the  beatings  of  her  heart.  The  large  moon 
seemed  to  be  spiked  on  the  sharp  spire  of  the  church 
that  is  near  her  house,  and  the  black  shadows  cut  the 


116  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

white  light  as  clean  as  with  a  knife.  Nino  had 
tuned  his  guitar  in  the  other  street,  and  stood  ready, 
waiting  for  the  clocks  to  strike.  Presently  they 
clanged  out  wildly,  as  though  they  had  been  waked 
from  their  midnight  sleep,  and  were  angry;  one  clock 
answering  the  other,  and  one  convent  bell  following 
another  in  the  call  to  prayers.  For  two  full  minutes 
the  whole  air  was  crazy  with  ringing,  and  then  it  was 
all  still.  Nino  struck  a  single  chord.  Hedwig  al 
most  thought  he  might  hear  her  heart  beating  all  the 
way  down  in  the  street. 

"Ah,  del  mio  dolce  ardor  bramato  ogetto,"  he 
sang,  — an  old  air  in  one  of  Gluck's  operas,  that  our 
Italian  musicians  say  was  composed  by  Alessandro 
Stradella,  the  poor  murdered  singer.  It  must  be  a 
very  good  air,  for  it  pleases  me ;  and  I  am  not  easily 
pleased  with  music  of  any  sort.  As  for  Hedwig, 
she  pressed  her  ear  to  the  glass  of  the  window  that 
she  might  not  lose  any  note.  But  she  would  not 
open  nor  give  any  sign.  Nino  was  not  so  easily  dis 
couraged,  for  he  remembered  that  she  had  once  opened 
her  window  for  a  few  bars  he  had  begun  to  sing.  Ha 
played  a  few  chords,  and  breathed  out  the  "Salve, 
dimora  casta  e  pura,"  from  Faust,  high  and  soft  and 
clear.  There  is  a  point  in  that  song,  near  to  the 
end,  where  the  words  say,  "Reveal  to  me  the 
maiden,"  and  where  the  music  goes  away  to  the 
highest  note  that  any  one  can  possibly  sing.  It  al 
ways  appears  quite  easy  for  Nino,  and  he  does  not 
squeak  like  a  dying  pig,  as  all  the  other  tenors  do 
on  that  note.  He  was  looking  up  as  he  sang  it,  won 
dering  whether  it  would  have  any  effect.  Appar- 


A   ROMAN  SINGER.  117 

ently  Hedwig  lost  her  head  completely,  for  she  gently 
opened  the  casement  and  looked  out  at  the  moonlight 
opposite  over  the  carved  stone  mullions  of  her  win 
dow.  The  song  ended,  he  hesitated  whether  to 
go  or  to  sing  again.  She  was  evidently  looking 
towards  him;  but  he  was  in  the  light,  for  the  moon 
had  risen  higher,  and  she,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  was  in  the  dark. 

"  Signorina !  "  he  called  softly.  No  answer.  "  Sig- 
norina!"  he  said  again,  coming  across  the  empty 
street  and  standing  under  the  window,  which  might 
have  been  thirty  feet  from  the  ground. 

"Hush!  "  came  a  whisper  from  above. 

"  I  thank  you  with  all  my  soul  for  listening  to  me," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  am  innocent  of  that  of 
which  you  suspect  me.  I  love  you,  ah,  I  love  you !  " 
But  at  this  she  left  the  window  very  quickly.  She 
did  not  close  it,  however,  and  Nino  stood  long, 
straining  his  eyes  for  a  glimpse  of  the  white  face 
that  had  been  there.  He  sighed,  and  striking  a 
chord  sang  out  boldly  the  old  air  from  the  Trovatore, 
"Ah,  che  la  morte  ognora  £  tarda  nel  venir."  Every 
blind  fiddler  in  the  streets  plays  it,  though  he  would 
be  sufficiently  scared  if  death  came  any  the  quicker 
for  his  fiddling.  But  old  and  worn  as  it  is,  it  has  a 
strain  of  passion  in  it,  and  Nino  threw  more  fire  and 
voice  into  the  ring  of  it  than  ever  did  famous  old 
Boccarde,  when  he  sang  it  at  the  first  performance  of 
the  opera,  thirty  and  odd  years  ago.  As  he  played 
the  chords  after  the  first  strophe,  the  voice  from  above 
whispered  again : 

"  Hush,  for  Heaven's  sake  I  "     Just  that,  and  some- 


118  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

thing  fell  at  his  feet,  with  a  soft  little  padded  sound 
on  the  pavement.  He  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  and 
found  a  single  rose ;  and  at  that  instant  the  window 
closed  sharply.  Therefore  he  kissed  the  rose  and  hid 
it,  and  presently  he  strode  down  the  street,  finishing 
his  song  as  he  went,  but  only  humming  it,  for  the 
joy  had  taken  his  voice  away.  I  heard  him  let  him 
self  in  and  go  to  bed,  and  he  told  me  about  it  in  the 
morning.  That  is  how  I  know. 

Since  the  day  after  the  de*but  Nino  had  not  seen 
the  baroness.  He  did  not  speak  of  her,  and  I  am 
sure  he  wished  she  were  at  the  very  bottom  of  the 
Tiber.  But  on  the  morning  after  the  serenade  he 
received  a  note  from  her,  which  was  so  full  of  pro 
testations  of  friendship  and  so  delicately  couched  that 
he  looked  grave,  and  reflected  that  it  was  his  duty  to 
be  courteous,  and  to  answer  such  a  call  as  that.  She 
begged  him  earnestly  to  come  at  one  o'clock;  she 
was  suffering  from  headache,  she  said,  and  was  very 
weak.  Had  Nino  loved  Hedwig  a  whit  the  less,  he 
would  not  have  gone.  But  he  felt  himself  strong 
enough  to  face  anything  and  everything,  and  there 
fore  he  determined  to  go. 

He  found  her,  indeed,  with  the  manner  of  a  person 
who  is  ill,  but  not  with  the  appearance.  She  was 
lying  on  a  huge  couch,  pushed  to  the  fireside,  and 
there  were  furs  about  her.  A  striped  scarf  of  rich 
Eastern  silk  was  round  her  throat,  and  she  held  in 
her  hand  a  new  novel,  of  which  she  carelessly  cut  the 
pages  with  a  broad-hafted  Persian  knife.  But  there 
was  colour  in  her  dark  cheek,  and  a  sort  of  angry  fire 
in  her  eyes.  Nino  thought  the  clean  steel  in  her 


A   KOMAN   SINGER. 

hand  looked  as  though  it  might  be  used  .for  something 
besides  cutting  leaves,  if  the  fancy  took  her. 

"So  at  last  you  have  honoured  me  with  a  visit, 
signore,"  she  said,  not  desisting  from  her  occupation. 
Nino  came  to  her,  and  she  put  out  her  hand.  He 
touched  it,  but  could  not  bear  to  hold  it,  for  it  burned 
him. 

"You  used  to  honour  my  hand  differently  from 
that,'*  she  half  whispered.  Nino  sat  himself  down 
a  little  way  from  her,  blushing  slightly.  It  was  not 
at  what  she  had  said,  but  at  the  thought  that  he 
should  ever  have  kissed  her  fingers. 

"Signora,"  he  replied,  "there  are  customs,  chiv 
alrous  and  gentle  in  themselves,  and  worthy  for  all 
men  to  practice.  But  from  the  moment  a  custom 
begins  to  mean  what  it  should  not,  it  ought  to  be 
abandoned.  You  will  forgive  me  if  I  no  longer  kiss 
your  hand." 

"  How  cold  you  are !  —  how  formal !  What  should 
it  mean  ?  " 

"It  is  better  to  say  too  little  than  too  much,"  he 
answered. 

"Bah!"  she  cried,  with  a  bitter  little  laugh. 
"  Words  are  silver,  but  silence  —  is  very  often  noth 
ing  but  silver-plated  brass.  Put  a  little  more  wood 
on  the  fire;  you  make  me  cold."  Nino  obeyed. 

"  How  literal  you  are !  "  said  the  baroness  petu 
lantly.  "There  is  fire  enough,  on  the  hearth." 

"  Apparently,  signora,  you  are  pleased  to  be  enig 
matical,"  said  Nino. 

"I  will  be  pleased  to  be  anything  I  please,"  she 
answered,  and  looked  at  him  rather  fiercely.  "I 


120  A  ROMAN   SINGEE. 

wanted  you  to  drive   away  my  headache,    and  you 
only  make  it  worse." 

"I  am  sorry,  signora.  I  will  leave  you  at  once. 
Permit  me  to  wish  you  a  very  good-morning." 

He  took  his  hat  and  went  towards  the  door.  Be 
fore  he  reached  the  heavy  curtain,  she  was  at  his  side 
with  a  rush  like  a  falcon  on  the  wing,  her  eyes  burn 
ing  darkly  between  anger  and  love. 

"  Nino ! "  She  laid  hold  of  his  arm,  and  looked 
into  his  face. 

"Signora,"  he  protested  coldly,  and  drew  back. 

"You  will  not  leave  me  so?" 

"As  you  wish,  signora.     I  desire  to  oblige  you." 

"  Oh,  how  cold  you  are ! "  she  cried,  leaving  his 
arm,  and  sinking  into  a  chair  by  the  door,  while  he 
stood  with  his  hand  on  the  curtain.  She  hid  her 
eyes.  "Nino,  Nino  I  You  will  break  my  heart!  "  she 
sobbed;  and  a  tear,  perhaps  more  of  anger  than  of 
sorrow,  burst  through  her  fingers,  and  coursed  down 
her  cheek. 

Few  men  can  bear  to  see  a  woman  shed  tears. 
Nino's  nature  rose  up  in  his  throat,  and  bade  him 
console  her.  But  between  him  and  her  was  a  fair, 
bright  image  that  forbade  him  to  move  hand  or 
foot. 

"Signora,"  he  said,  with  all  the  calm  he  could 
command,  "  if  I  were  conscious  of  having  by  word  or 
deed  of  mine  given  you  cause  to  speak  thus,  I  would 
humbly  implore  your  forgiveness.  But  my  heart 
does  not  accuse  me.  I  beg  you  to  allow  me  to  take 
leave  of  you.  I  will  go  away,  and  you  shall  have  no 
further  cause  to  think  of  me." 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  121 

He  moved  again,  and  lifted  the  curtain.  But  she 
was  like  a  panther,  so  quick  and  beautiful.  Ah, 
how  I  could  have  loved  that  woman !  She  held  him, 
and  would  not  let  him  go,  her  smooth  fingers  fasten 
ing  round  his  wrists  like  springs. 

"Please  to  let  me  go,"  he  said  between  his  teeth, 
with  rising  anger. 

"  No !  I  will  not  let  you ! "  she  cried  fiercely, 
tightening  her  grasp  on  him.  Then  the  angry  fire  in 
her  tearful  eyes  seemed  suddenly  to  melt  into  a  soft 
flame,  and  the  colour  came  faster  to  her  cheeks.  "  Ah, 
how  can  you  let  me  so  disgrace  myself!  how  can  you 
see  me  fallen  so  low  as  to  use  the  strength  of  my 
hands,  and  yet  have  no  pity!  Nino,  Nino,  do  not 
kill  me!" 

"Indeed,  it  would  be  the  better  for  you  if  I 
should,"  he  answered  bitterly,  but  without  attempt 
ing  to  free  his  wrists  from  her  strong,  soft  grip. 

"But  you  will,"  she  murmured  passionately. 
"  You  are  killing  me  by  leaving  me.  Can  you  not 
see  it?" 

Her  voice  melted  away  in  the  tearful  cadence. 
But  Nino  stood  gazing  at  her  as  stonily  as  though 
he  were  the  Sphinx.  How  could  he  have  the  heart? 
I  cannot  tell.  Long  she  looked  into  his  eyes,  silently ; 
but  she  might  as  well  have  tried  to  animate  a  piece 
of  iron,  so  stern  and  hard  he  was.  Suddenly,  with 
a  strong,  convulsive  movement,  she  flung  his  hands 
from  her. 

"  Go !  "  she  cried  hoarsely.  "  Go  to  that  wax  doll 
you  love,  and  see  whether  she  will  love  you,  or  care 
whether  }rou  leave  her  or  not !  Go,  go,  go !  Go  to 


122  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

her!  "  She  had  sprung  far  back  from  him,  and  now 
pointed  to  the  door,  drawn  to  her  full  height  and 
blazing  in  her  wrath. 

"  I  would  advise  you,  madam,  to  speak  with  proper 
respect  of  any  lady  with  whom  you  choose  to  couple 
my  name." 

His  lips  opened  and  shut  mechanically,  and  he 
trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Respect !  "  She  laughed  wildly.  "  Respect  for  a 
mere  child  whom  you  happen  to  fancy!  Respect, 
indeed,  for  anything  you  choose  to  do !  I  —  I  —  re 
spect  Hedwig  von  Lira?  Ha!  ha!"  And  she  rested 
her  hand  on  the  table  behind  her,  as  she  laughed. 

"Be  silent,  madam,"  said  Nino,  and  he  moved  a 
step  nearer,  and  stood  with  folded  arms. 

"Ah!  You  would  silence  me  now,  would  you? 
You  would  rather  not  hear  me  speak  of  your  mid 
night  serenades,  and  your  sweet  letters  dropped  from 
the  window  of  her  room,  at  your  feet?"  But  her 
rage  overturned  itself,  and  with  a  strange  cry  she 
fell  into  a  deep  chair,  and  wept  bitterly,  burying  her 
face  in  her  two  hands.  "Miserable  woman  that  I 
am! "  she  sobbed,  and  her  whole  lithe  body  was  con 
vulsed. 

"You  are  indeed,"  said  Nino,  and  he  turned  once 
more  to  go.  But  as  he  turned,  the  servant  threw 
back  the  curtain. 

"The  Signor  Conte  di  Lira,"  he  announced  in  dis 
tinct  tones.  For  a  moment  there  was  a  dead  silence, 
during  which,  in  spite  of  his  astonishment  at  the 
sudden  appearance  of  the  count,  Nino  had  time 
to  reflect  that  the  baroness  had  caused  him  to  be 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  123 

watched  during  the  previous  night.  It  might  well 
be,  and  the  mistake  she  made  in  supposing  the  thing 
Hedwig  had  dropped  to  be  a  letter  told  him  that 
her  spy  had  not  ventured  very  near. 

The  tall  count  came  forward  under  the  raised  cur 
tains,  limping  and  helping  himself  with  his  stick. 
His  face  was  as  grey  and  wooden  as  ever,  but  his 
moustaches  had  an  irritated,  crimped  look,  that  Nino 
did  not  like.  The  count  barely  nodded  to  the  young 
man,  as  he  stood  aside  to  let  the  old  gentleman  pass ; 
his  eyes  turned  mechanically  to  where  the  baroness 
sat.  She  was  a  woman  who  had  no  need  to  stimulate 
passion  in  any  shape,  and  it  must  have  cost  her  a  ter 
rible  effort  to  control  the  paroxysm  of  anger  and 
shame  and  grief  that  had  overcome  her.  There  was 
something  unnatural  and  terrifying  in  her  sudden 
calm,  as  she  forced  herself  to  rise  and  greet  her  visitor. 

"I  fear  I  come  out  of  season,"  he  said,  apologeti 
cally,  as  he  bent  over  her  hand. 

"On  the  contrary,"  she  answered;  "but  forgive 
me  if  I  speak  one  word  to  Professor  Cardegna."  She 
went  to  where  Nino  was  standing. 

"  Go  into  that  room,"  she  said,  in  a  very  low  voice, 
glancing  towards  a  curtained  door  opposite  the  win 
dows,  "and  wait  till  he  goes.  You  may  listen  if 
you  choose."  She  spoke  authoritatively. 

"I  will  not,"  answered  Nino,  in  a  determined 
whisper. 

"You  will  not?"  Her  eyes  flashed  again.  He 
shook  his  head. 

"Count  von  Lira,"  she  said  aloud,  turning  to 
him,  "  do  you  know  this  young  man  ?  " 


124  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

She  spoke  in  Italian,  and  Von  Lira  answered  in 
the  same  language;  but  as  what  he  said  was  not 
exactly  humorous,  I  will  spare  you  the  strange  con 
struction  of  his  sentences. 

"Perfectly,"  he  answered.  "It  is  precisely  con 
cerning  this  young  man  that  I  desire  to  speak  with 
you."  The  count  remained  standing  because  the 
baroness  had  not  told  him  to  be  seated. 

"That  is  fortunate,"  replied  the  baroness,  "for  I 
wish  to  inform  you  that  he  is  a  villain,  a  wretch,  a 
miserable  fellow! " 

Her  anger  was  rising  again,  but  she  struggled  to 
control  it.  When  Nino  realised  what  she  said,  he 
came  forward,  and  stood  near  the  count,  facing  the 
baroness,  his  arms  folded  on  his  breast,  as  though 
to  challenge  accusation.  The  count  raised  his  eye 
brows. 

"I  am  aware  that  he  concealed  his  real  profession 
so  long  as  he  gave  my  daughter  lessons.  That,  how 
ever,  has  been  satisfactorily  explained,  though  I 
regret  it.  Pray  inform  me  why  you  designate  him 
as  a  villain."  Nino  felt  a  thrill  of  sympathy  for  this 
man  whom  he  had  so  long  deceived. 

"This  man,  sir,"  said  she  in  measured  tones,  "this 
low-born  singer,  who  has  palmed  himself  off  on  us 
as  a  respectable  instructor  in  language,  has  the  audac 
ity  to  love  your  daughter.  For  the  sake  of  press 
ing  his  odious  suit,  he  has  wormed  himself  into 
your  house,  as  into  mine ;  he  has  sung  beneath  your 
daughter's  window,  and  she  has  dropped  letters  to 
him,  —  love-letters,  do  you  understand?  And  now," 
—  her  voice  rose  more  shrill  and  uncontrollable  at 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  125 

every  word,  as  she  saw  Lira's  face  turn  white,  and 
her  anger  gave  desperate  utterance  to  the  lie,  — 
"  and  now  he  has  the  effrontery  to  come  to  me  —  to 
me  —  to  me  of  all  women  —  and  to  confess  his  abom 
inable  passion  for  that  pure  angel,  imploring  me  to 
assist  him  in  bringing  destruction  upon  her  and  you. 
Oh,  it  is  execrable,  it  is  vile,  it  is  hellish! " 

She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  temples  as  she  stood, 
and  glared  at  the  two  men.  The  count  was  a  strong 
man,  easily  petulant,  but  hard  to  move  to  real  anger. 
Though  his  face  was  white  and  his  right  hand  clutched 
his  crutch-stick,  he  still  kept  the  mastery  of  himself. 

"Is  what  you  tell  me  true,  madam?"  he  asked  in 
a  strange  voice. 

"Before  God,  it  is  true! "  she  cried  desperately. 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  for  one  moment,  and 
then,  as  though  he  had  been  twenty  years  younger, 
he  made  at  Nino,  brandishing  his  stick  to  strike. 
But  Nino  is  strong  and  young,  and  he  is  almost  a 
Roman.  He  foresaw  the  count's  action,  and  his 
right  hand  stole  to  the  table,  and  grasped  the  clean, 
murderous  knife;  the  baroness  had  used  it  so  inno 
cently  to  cut  the  leaves  of  her  book,  half  an  hour 
before.  With  one  wrench  he  had  disarmed  the  elder 
man,  forced  him  back  upon  a  lounge,  and  set  the 
razor  edge  of  his  weapon  against  the  count's  throat. 

"  If  you  speak  one  word,  or  try  to  strike  me,  I  will 
cut  off  your  head,"  he  said  quietly,  bringing  his 
cold,  marble  face  close  down  to  the  old  man's  eyes. 
There  was  something  so  deathly  in  his  voice,  in  spite 
of  its  quiet  sound,  that  the  count  thought  his  hour 
was  come,  brave  man  as  he  was.  The  baroness  tot- 


126  A    ROMAN    SINGER. 

tered  back  against  the  opposite  wall,  and  stood  star 
ing  at  the  two,  disheveled  and  horrified. 

"This  woman,"  said  Nino,  still  holding  the  cold 
thing  against  the  flesh,  "lies  in  part,  and  in  part 
tells  the  truth.  I  love  your  daughter,  it  is  true." 
The  poor  old  man  quivered  beneath  Nino's  weight, 
and  his  eyes  rolled  wildly,  searching  for  some  means 
of  escape.  But  it  was  of  no  use.  "I  love  her,  and 
have  sung  beneath  her  window;  but  I  never  had  a 
written  word  from  her  in  my  life,  and  I  neither  told 
this  woman  of  my  love  nor  asked  her  assistance. 
She  guessed  it  at  the  first;  she  guessed  the  reason 
of  my  disguise,  and  she  herself  offered  to  help  me. 
You  may  speak  now.  Ask  her." 

Nino  relaxed  his  hold,  and  stood  off,  still  grasp 
ing  the  knife.  The  old  count  breathed,  shook  him 
self  and  passed  his  handkerchief  over  his  face  before 
he  spoke.  The  baroness  stood  as  though  she  were 
petrified. 

"  Thunder-weather,  you  are  a  devilish  young  man ! " 
said  Von  Lira,  still  panting.  Then  he  suddenly  re 
covered  his  dignity.  "  You  have  caused  me  to  assault 
this  young  man,  by  what  you  told  me,"  he  said,  strug 
gling  to  his  feet.  "  He  defended  himself,  and  might 
have  killed  me,  had  he  chosen.  Be  good  enough  to 
tell  me  whether  he  has  spoken  the  truth,  or  you." 

"He  has  spoken  —  the  truth,"  answered  the  baron 
ess,  staring  vacantly  about  her.  Her  fright  had 
taken  from  her  even  the  faculty  of  lying.  Her  voice 
was  low,  but  she  articulated  the  words  distinctly. 
Then,  suddenly,  she  threw  up  her  hands,  with  a 
short,  quick  scream,  and  fell  forward,  senseless,  on 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  127 

the  floor.  Nino  looked  at  the  count,  and  dropped 
his  knife  on  a  table.  The  count  looked  at  Nino. 

"Sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "I  forgive  you  for 
resisting  my  assault.  I  do  not  forgive  you  for  pre 
suming  to  love  my  daughter,  and  I  will  find  means 
to  remind  you  of  the  scandal  you  have  brought  on 
my  house."  He  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height. 
Nino  handed  him  his  crutch-stick  civilly. 

"Signor  Conte,"  he  said,  simply,  but  with  all  his 
natural  courtesy,  "  I  am  sorry  for  this  affair,  to  which 
you  forced  me, — or  rather  the  Signora  Baronessa 
forced  us  both.  I  have  acted  foolishly,  perhaps,  but 
I  am  in  love.  And  permit  me  to  assure  you,  sir,  that 
I  will  yet  marry  the  Signorina  di  Lira,  if  she  con 
sents  to  marry  me." 

"By  the  name  of  Heaven,"  swore  the  old  count, 
"if  she  wants  to  marry  a  singer,  she  shall." 

He  limped  to  the  door  in  sullen  anger,  and  went 
out.  Nino  turned  to  the  prostrate  figure  of  the  poor 
baroness.  The  continued  strain  on  her  nerves  had 
broken  her  down,  and  she  lay  on  the  floor  in  a  dead 
faint.  Nino  put  a  cushion  from  the  lounge  under 
her  head,  and  rang  the  bell.  The  servant  appeared 
instantly. 

"Bring  water  quickly!  "  he  cried.  "The  signora 
has  fainted."  He  stood  looking  at  the  senseless  figure 
of  the  woman,  as  she  lay  across  the  rich  Persian  rugs 
that  covered  the  floor. 

"  Why  did  you  not  bring  salts,  cologne,  her  maid 
—  run,  I  tell  you!  "  he  said  to  the  man,  who  brought 
the  glass  of  water  on  a  gilded  tray. 

He  had  forgotten  that  the  fellow  could  not  be  ex- 


128  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

pected  to  have  any  sense.  When  her  people  came  at 
last,  he  had  sprinkled  her  face,  and  she  had  uncon 
sciously  swallowed  enough  of  the  water  to  have  some 
effect  in  reviving  her.  She  began  to  open  her  eyes, 
and  her  fingers  moved  nervously.  Nino  found  his 
hat,  and,  casting  one  glance  round  the  room  that  had 
just  witnessed  such  strange  doings,  passed  through 
the  door  and  went  out.  The  baroness  was  left  with 
her  servants.  Poor  woman!  She  did  very  wrong, 
perhaps,  but  anybody  would  have  loved  her  —  except 
Nino.  She  must  have  been  terribly  shaken,  one 
would  have  thought,  and  she  ought  to  have  gone  to 
lie  down,  and  should  have  sent  for  the  doctor  to  bleed 
her.  But  she  did  nothing  of  the  kind. 

She  came  to  see  me.  I  was  alone  in  the  house, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was  just  gilding 
the  tops  of  the  houses.  I  heard  the  doorbell  ring, 
and  I  went  to  answer  it  myself.  There  stood  the 
beautiful  baroness,  alone,  with  all  her  dark  soft  things 
around  her,  as  pale  as  death,  and  her  eyes  swollen 
sadly  with  weeping.  Nino  had  come  home  and  told 
me  something  about  the  scene  in  the  morning,  and  I 
can  tell  you  I  gave  him  a  piece  of  my  mind  about  his 
follies. 

"  Does  Professor  Cornelio  Grandi  live  here  ?  "  she 
asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  am  he,  signora,"  I  answered.  "  Will  you  please 
to  come  in  ?  " 

And  so  she  came  into  our  little  sitting-room,  and 
sat  over  there  in  the  old  green  arm-chair.  I  shall 
never  forget  it  as  long  as  I  livo. 

I  cannot  tell  you  all  she  said  in  that  brief  half- 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  129 

hour,  for  it  pains  me  to  think  of  it.  She  spoke  as 
though  I  were  her  confessor,  so  humbly  and  quietly, 
—  as  though  it  had  all  happened  ten  years  ago.  There 
is  no  stubbornness  in  those  tiger  women  when  once 
they  break  down. 

She  said  she  was  going  away;  that  she  had  done 
my  boy  a  great  wrong,  and  wished  to  make  such  repa 
ration  as  she  could  by  telling  me,  at  least,  the  truth. 
She  did  not  scruple  to  say  that  she  had  loved  him,  nor 
that  she  had  done  everything  in  her  power  to  keep 
him ;  though  he  had  never  so  much  as  looked  at  her, 
she  added  pathetically.  She  wished  to  have  me 
know  exactly  how  it  had  happened,  no  matter  what  I 
might  think  of  her. 

"You  are  a  nobleman,  count,"  she  said  to  me  at 
last,  "  and  I  can  trust  you  as  one  of  my  own  people, 
I  am  sure.  Yes,  I  know :  you  have  been  unfortunate, 
and  are  now  a  professor.  But  that  does  not  change 
the  blood.  I  can  trust  you.  You  need  not  tell  him 
I  came,  unless  you  wish  it.  I  shall  never  see  him 
again.  I  am  glad  to  have  been  here,  to  see  where  he 
lives." 

She  rose,  and  moved  to  go.  I  confess  that  the 
tears  were  in  my  eyes.  There  was  a  pile  of  music 
on  the  old  piano.  There  was  a  loose  leaf  on  the  top, 
with  his  name  written  on  it.  She  took  it  in  her 
hand,  and  looked  inquiringly  at  me  out  of  her  sad 
eyes.  I  knew  she  wanted  to  take  it,  and  I  nodded. 

"I  shall  never  see  him  again,  you  know."  Her 
voice  was  gentle  and  weak,  and  she  hastened  to  the 
door;  so  that  almost  before  I  knew  it  she  was  gone. 

The  sun  had  left  the  red-tiled  roofs  opposite,  and 


130  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

the  goldfinch  was  silent  in  his  cage.  So  I  sat  down 
in  the  chair  where  she  had  rested,  and  folded  my 
hands,  and  thought,  as  I  am  always  thinking  ever 
since,  how  I  could  have  loved  such  a  woman  as  that; 
so  passionate,  so  beautiful,  so  piteously  sorry  for 
what  she  had  done  that  was  wrong.  Ah  me,  for  the 
years  that  are  gone  away  so  cruelly,  for  the  days  so 
desperately  dead!  Give  me  but  one  of  those  golden 
days,  and  I  would  make  the  pomp  of  emperors  ridic 
ulous.  A  greater  man  than  I  said  that,  —  a  man 
over  the  seas,  with  a  great  soul,  who  wrote  in  a 
foreign  tongue,  but  spoke  a  language  germain  to  all 
human  speech.  But  even  he  cannot  bring  back  one 
of  those  dear  days.  I  would  give  much  to  have  that 
one  day  back,  when  she  came  and  told  me  all  her 
woes.  But  that  is  impossible. 

When  they  came  to  wake  her  in  the  morning  —  the 
very  morning  after  that  —  she  was  dead  in  her  bed; 
the  colour  gone  for  ever  from  those  velvet  cheeks,  the 
fire  quenched  out  of  those  passionate  eyes,  past  power 
of  love  or  hate  to  rekindle.  Requiescat  in  pace,  and 
may  God  give  her  eternal  rest  and  forgiveness  for  all 
her  sins.  Poor,  beautiful,  erring  woman! 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  131 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AT  nine  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  baroness's 
death,  as  Nino  was  busy  singing  scales,  there  was  a 
ring  at  the  door,  and  presently  Mariuccia  came  run 
ning  in  as  fast  as  her  poor  old  legs  could  carry  her, 
and  whiter  than  a  pillow-case,  to  say  that  there  was 
a  man  at  the  door  with  two  gendarmes,  asking  for 
Nino ;  and  before  I  could  question  her,  the  three  men 
walked  unbidden  into  the  room,  demanding  which 
was  Giovanni  Cardegna,  the  singer.  Nino  started, 
and  then  said  quietly  that  he  was  the  man.  I  have 
had  dealings  with  these  people,  and  I  know  what  is 
best  to  be  done.  They  were  inclined  to  be  rough  and 
very  peremptory.  I  confess  I  was  frightened;  but  I 
think  I  am  more  cunning  when  I  am  a  little  afraid. 

"Mariuccia,"  I  said,  as  she  stood  trembling  in  the 
doorway,  waiting  to  see  what  should  happen,  "  fetch 
a  flask  of  that  old  wine,  and  serve  these  gentlemen, 
—  and  a  few  chestnuts,  if  you  have  some.  Be  seated, 
signori,"  I  said  to  them,  "and  take  one  of  these 
cigars.  My  boy  is  a  singer,  and  you  would  not  hurt 
his  voice  by  taking  him  out  so  early  on  this  raw 
morning.  Sit  down,  Nino,  and  ask  these  gentlemen 
what  they  desire." 

They  all  sat  down,  somewhat  sullenly,  and  the 
gendarmes'  sabres  clanked  on  the  brick  floor. 


132  A  EOMAN   SINGER. 

"  What  do  you  wish  from  me  ?  "  asked  Nino,  who 
was  not  much  moved  after  the  first  surprise. 

"We  regret  to  say,"  answered  the  man  in  plain 
clothes,  "that  we  are  here  to  arrest  you." 

"  May  I  inquire  on  what  charge  ?  "  I  asked.  "  But 
first  let  me  fill  your  glasses.  Dry  throats  make 
surly  answers,  as  the  proverb  says."  They  drank. 
It  chanced  that  the  wine  was  good,  being  from  my 
own  vineyard,  —  my  little  vineyard  that  I  bought 
outside  of  Porta  Salara,  —  and  the  men  were  cold  and 
wet,  for  it  was  raining. 

"Well,"  said  the  man  who  had  spoken  before,  — he 
was  clean-shaved  and  fat,  and  he  smacked  his  lips 
over  the  wine,  —  "  it  is  not  our  way  to  answer  ques 
tions.  But  since  you  are  so  civil,  I  will  tell  you 
that  you  are  arrested  on  suspicion  of  having  poisoned 
that  Russian  baroness,  with  the  long  name,  at  whose 
house  you  have  been  so  intimate." 

"Poisoned?  The  baroness  poisoned?  Is  she  very 
ill,  then  ?  "  asked  Nino,  in  great  alarm. 

"She  is  dead,"  said  the  fat  man,  wiping  his  mouth, 
and  twisting  the  empty  glass  in  his  hand. 

"Dead!  "  cried  Nino  and  I  together. 

"  Dead  —  yes ;  as  dead  as  St.  Peter, "  he  answered 
irreverently.  "Your  wine  is  good,  Signor  Profes- 
sore.  Yes,  I  will  take  another  glass  —  and  my  men, 
too.  Yes,  she  was  found  dead  this  morning,  lying 
in  her  bed.  You  were  there  yesterday,  Signor  Car- 
degna,  and  her  servant  says  he  saw  you  giving  her 
something  in  a  glass  of  water."  He  drank  a  long 
draught.  "  You  would  have  done  better  to  give  her 
some  of  this  wine,  my  friend.  She  would  certainly 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  133 

be  alive  to-day."  But  Nino  was  dark  and  thought 
ful.  He  must  have  been  pained  and  terribly  shocked 
at  the  sudden  news,  of  course,  but  he  did  not  admire 
her  as  I  did. 

"Of  course  this  thing  will  soon  be  over,"  he  said 
at  last.  "I  am  very  much  grieved  to  hear  of  the 
lady's  death,  but  it  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  I  was 
concerned  in  it,  however  it  happened.  She  fainted 
suddenly  in  the  morning  when  I  was  there,  and  I 
gave  her  some  water  to  drink,  but  there  was  nothing 
in  it."  He  clasped  his  hands  on  his  knee,  and  looked 
much  distressed. 

"It  is  quite  possible  that  you  poisoned  her,"  re 
marked  the  fat  man,  with  annoying  indifference. 
"  The  servant  says  he  overheard  high  words  between 
you"- 

"He  overheard?"  cried  Nino,  springing  to  his 
feet.  "Cursed  beast,  to  listen  at  the  door!"  He 
began  to  walk  about  excitedly.  "  How  long  is  this 
affair  to  keep  me  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly.  "  I  have  to 
sing  to-night  —  and  that  poor  lady  lying  there  dead 
—  oh,  I  cannot!  " 

"Perhaps  you  will  not  be  detained  more  than  a 
couple  of  hours,"  said  the  fat  man.  "And  perhaps 
you  will  be  detained  until  the  Day  of  Judgment," 
he  added,  with  a  sly  wink  at  the  gendarmes,  who 
laughed  obsequiously.  "  By  this  afternoon,  the  doc 
tors  will  know  of  what  she  died ;  and  if  there  was  no 
poison,  and  she  died  a  natural  death,  you  can  go  to 
the  theatre  and  sing,  if  you  have  the  stomach.  I 
would,  I  am  sure.  You  see,  she  is  a  great  lady,  and 
the  people  of  her  embassy  are  causing  everything  to 


134  A   BOMAN   SINGER. 

be  done  very  quickly.  If  you  had  poisoned  that  old 
lady  who  brought  us  this  famous  wine  a  minute  ago, 
you  might  have  had  to  wait  till  next  year,  innocent 
or  guilty."  It  struck  me  that  the  wine  was  produc 
ing  its  effect. 

"Very  well,"  said  Nino,  resolutely;  "let  us  go. 
You  shall  see  that  I  am  perfectly  ready,  although  the 
news  has  shaken  me  much ;  and  so  you  will  permit 
me  to  walk  quietly  with  you,  without  attracting  any 
attention  ?  " 

"Oh,  we  would  not  think  of  incommoding  you," 
said  the  fat  man.  "The  orders  were  expressly  to 
give  you  every  convenience,  and  we  have  a  private 
carriage  below.  Signer  Grandi,  we  thank  you  for 
your  civility.  Good-morning  —  a  thousand  excuses. " 

He  bowed,  and  the  gendarmes  rose  to  their  feet, 
refreshed  and  ruddy  with  the  good  wine.  Of  course 
I  knew  I  could  not  accompany  them,  and  I  was  too 
much  frightened  to  have  been  of  any  use.  Poor 
Mariuccia  was  crying  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Send  word  to  Jacovacci,  the  manager,  if  you  do 
not  hear  by  twelve  o'clock,"  Nino  called  back  from 
the  landing,  and  the  door  closed  behind  them  all. 
I  was  left  alone,  sad  and  frightened,  and  I  felt  very 
old,  —  much  older  than  I  am. 

It  was  tragic.  Mechanically  I  sank  into  the  old 
green  arm-chair,  where  she  had  sat  but  yesterday 
evening,  — she  whom  I  had  seen  but  twice,  once  in 
the  theatre  and  once  here,  but  of  whom  I  had  heard 
so  much.  And  she  was  dead,  so  soon.  If  Nino 
could  only  have  heard  her  last  words  and  seen  her 
last  look,  he  would  have  been  more  hurt  when  he 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  136 

heard  of  her  sudden  death.  But  he  is  of  stone,  that 
man,  save  for  his  love  and  his  art.  He  seems  to 
have  no  room  left  for  sympathy  with  human  ills,  nor 
even  for  fear  on  his  own  account.  Fear!  —  how  I 
hate  the  word !  Nino  did  not  seem  frightened  at  all, 
when  they  took  him  away.  But  as  for  me  —  well,  it 
was  not  for  myself  this  time,  at  least.  That  is  some 
comfort.  I  think  one  may  be  afraid  for  other  people. 
Mariuccia  was  so  much  disturbed  that  I  was  obliged 
to  go  myself  to  get  De  Pretis,  who  gave  up  all  his 
lessons  that  day  and  came  to  give  me  his  advice.  He 
looked  grave  and  spoke  very  little,  but  he  is  a  broad- 
shouldered,  genial  man,  and  very  comforting.  He 
insisted  on  going  himself  at  once  to  see  Nino,  to  give 
him  all  the  help  he  could.  He  would  not  hear  of  my 
going,  for  he  said  I  ought  to  be  bled  and  have  some 
tea  of  mallows  to  calm  me.  And  when  I  offered  him 
a  cigar  from  the  box  of  good  ones  Nino  had  given  me, 
he  took  six  or  seven,  and  put  them  into  his  pocket 
without  saying  a  word.  But  I  did  not  grudge  them 
of  him ;  for  though  he  is  very  ridiculous,  with  his 
skull-cap  and  his  snuff-box,  he  is  a  leal  man,  as  we 
say,  who  stands  by  his  friends  and  snaps  his  fingers 
at  the  devil. 

I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  anxiety  I  felt  through 
all  that  day.  I  could  not  eat,  nor  drink,  nor  write. 
I  could  not  smoke,  and  when  I  tried  to  go  to  sleep 
that  cat  —  an  apoplexy  on  her !  —  climbed  up  on  my 
shoulder  and  clawed  my  hair.  Mariuccia  sat  moan 
ing  in  the  kitchen,  and  could  not  cook  at  all,  so  that 
I  was  half  starved. 

At  three  o'clock  De  Pretis  came  back. 


136  A   ROMAN    SINGER. 

"Courage,  conte  mio!"  he  cried;  and  I  knew  it 
was  all  right.  "  Courage !  Nino  is  at  liberty  again, 
and  says  he  will  sing  to-night  to  show  them  he  is  not 
a  clay  doll,  to  be  broken  by  a  little  knocking  about. 
Ah,  what  a  glorious  boy  Nino  is !  " 

"But  where  is  he?"  I  asked,  when  I  could  find 
voice  to  speak,  for  I  was  all  trembling. 

"  He  is  gone  for  a  good  walk,  to  freshen  his  nerves, 
poverino.  I  wonder  he  has  any  strength  left.  For 
Heaven's  sake,  give  me  a  match  that  I  may  light  my 
cigar,  and  then  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it.  Thank 
you.  And  I  will 'sit  down,  comfortably  —  so.  Now 
you  must  know  that  the  baroness  —  requiescat !  — 
was  not  poisoned  by  Nino,  nor  by  anyone  else." 

" Of  course  not!     Go  on." 

"Piano, — slow  and  sure.  They  had  a  terrific 
scene  yesterday.  You  know  ?  Yes.  Then  she  went 
out  and  tired  herself,  poor  soul,  so  that  when  she 
got  home  she  had  an  attack  of  the  nerves.  Now 
these  foreigners,  who  are  a  pack  of  silly  people,  do 
not  have  themselves  bled  and  drink  malva  water  as 
we  do  when  we  get  a  fit  of  anger.  But  they  take 
opium;  that  is,  a  thing  they  call  chloral.  God 
knows  what  it  is  made  of,  but  it  puts  them  to  sleep, 
like  opium.  When  the  doctors  came  to  look  at  the 
poor  lady,  they  saw  at  once  what  was  the  matter,  and 
called  the  maid.  The  maid  said  her  mistress  cer 
tainly  had  some  queer  stuff  in  a  little  bottle,  which 
she  often  used  to  take;  and  when  they  inquired 
further  they  heard  that  the  baroness  had  poured  out 
much  more  than  usual  the  night  before,  while  the 
maid  was  combing  her  hair,  for  she  seemed  terribly 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  137 

excited  and  restless.  So  they  got  the  bottle  and 
found  it  nearly  empty.  Then  the  doctors  said,  'At 
what  time  was  this  young  man  who  is  now  arrested 
seen  to  give  her  the  glass  of  water  ?  '  The  man-ser 
vant  said  it  was  about  two  in  the  afternoon.  So  the 
doctors  knew  that  if  Nino  had  given  her  the  chloral 
she  could  not  have  gone  out  afterwards,  and  have 
been  awake  at  eleven  in  the  evening  when  her  maid 
was  with  her,  and  yet  have  been  hurt  by  what  he 
gave  her.  And  so,  as  Jacovacci  was  raising  a  thou 
sand  devils  in  every  corner  of  Rome  because  they 
had  arrested  his  principal  singer  on  false  pretences, 
and  was  threatening  to  bring  suits  against  everybody, 
including  the  Russian  embassy,  the  doctors,  and  the 
government,  if  Nino  did  not  appear  in  Faust  to 
night,  according  to  his  agreement,  the  result  was 
that,  half  an  hour  ago,  Nino  was  conducted  out  of  the 
police  precincts  with  ten  thousand  apologies,  and  put 
into  the  arms  of  Jacovacci,  who  wept  for  joy,  and 
carried  him  off  to  a  late  breakfast  at  Morteo's.  And 
then  I  came  here.  But  I  made  Nino  promise  to  take 
a  good  walk  for  his  digestion,  since  the  weather  has 
changed.  For  a  breakfast  at  three  in  the  afternoon 
may  be  called  late,  even  in  Rome.  And  that  reminds 
me  to  ask  you  for  a  drop  of  wine ;  for  I  am  still  fast 
ing,  and  this  talking  is  worse  for  the  throat  than  a 
dozen  high  masses." 

Mariuccia  had  been  listening  at  the  door,  as  usual, 
and  she  immediately  began  crying  for  joy;  for  she  is 
a  weak-minded  old  thing,  and  dotes  on  Nino.  I  was 
very  glad  myself,  I  can  tell  you ;  but  I  could  not  un 
derstand  how  Nino  could  have  the  heart  to  sing,  or 


138  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

should  lack  heart  so  much  as  to  be  fit  for  it.  Before 
the  evening  he  came  home,  silent  and  thoughtful.  I 
asked  him  whether  he  were  not  glad  to  be  free  so 
easily. 

"  That  is  not  a  very  intelligent  question  for  a  phi 
losopher  like  you  to  ask,"  he  answered.  "Of  course 
I  am  glad  of  my  liberty ;  any  man  would  be.  But  I 
feel  that  I  am  as  much  the  cause  of  that  poor  lady's 
death  as  though  I  had  killed  her  with  my  own  hands. 
I  shall  never  forgive  myself." 

"Diana!  "  I  cried,  "it  is  a  horrible  tragedy;  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  you  could  not  help  it  if  she  chose  to 
love  you." 

"Hush!"  said  he,  so  sternly  that  he  frightened 
me.  "  She  is  dead.  God  give  her  soul  rest.  Let  us 
not  talk  of  what  she  did." 

"But,"  I  objected,  "if  you  feel  so  strongly  about 
it,  how  can  you  sing  at  the  opera  to-night?  " 

"  There  are  plenty  of  reasons  why  I  should  sing. 
In  the  first  place,  I  owe  it  to  my  engagement  with 
Jacovacci.  He  has  taken  endless  trouble  to  have  me 
cleared  at  once,  and  I  will  not  disappoint  him.  Be 
sides,  I  have  not  lost  my  voice,  and  might  be  half 
ruined  by  breaking  contract  so  early.  Then,  the 
afternoon  papers  are  full  of  the  whole  affair,  some 
right  and  some  wrong,  and  I  am  bound  to  show  the 
Contessina  di  Lira  that  this  unfortunate  accident 
does  not  touch  my  heart,  however  sorry  I  may  be. 
If  I  did  not  appear,  all  Rome  would  say  it  was 
because  I  was  heart-broken.  If  she  does  not  go  to  the 
theatre,  she  will  at  least  hear  of  it.  Therefore  I  will 
sing."  It  was  very  reasonable  of  him  to  think  so. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  139 

"  Have  any  of  the  papers  got  hold  of  the  story  of 
your  giving  lessons  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not ;  and  there  is  no  mention  of  the 
Lira  family." 

"So  much  the  better." 

Hedwig  did  not  go  to  the  opera.  Of  course  she 
was  quite  right.  However  she  might  feel  about  the 
baroness,  it  would  have  been  in  the  worst  possible 
taste  to  go  to  the  opera  the  very  day  after  her  death. 
That  is  the  way  society  puts  it.  It  is  bad  taste ;  they 
never  say  it  is  heartless,  or  unkind,  or  brutal.  It  is 
simply  bad  taste.  Nino  sang,  on  the  whole,  better 
than  if  she  had  been  there,  for  he  put  his  whole  soul 
in  his  art,  and  won  fresh  laurels.  When  it  was  over 
he  was  besieged  by  the  agent  of  the  London  manager 
to  come  to  some  agreement. 

"I  cannot  tell  yet,"  he  said.  "I  will  tell  you 
soon."  He  was  not  willing  to  leave  Rome, — that 
was  the  truth  of  the  matter.  He  thought  of  nothing, 
day  or  night,  but  of  how  he  might  see  Hedwig,  and 
his  heart  writhed  in  his  breast  when  it  seemed  more 
and  more  impossible.  He  dared  not  risk  compromis 
ing  her  by  another  serenade,  as  he  felt  sure  that  it 
had  been  some  servant  of  the  count  who  had  betrayed 
him  to  the  baroness.  At  last  he  hit  upon  a  plan. 
The  funeral  of  the  baroness  was  to  take  place  on  the 
afternoon  of  the  next  day.  He  felt  sure  that  the 
Graf  von  Lira  would  go  to  it,  and  he  was  equally 
certain  that  Hedwig  would  not.  It  chanced  to  be 
the  hour  at  which  De  Pretis  went  to  the  Palazzo  to 
give  her  the  singing  lesson. 

"I  suppose  it  is  a  barbarous  thing  for  me  to  do," 


140  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

he  said  to  himself,  "  but  I  cannot  help  it.    Love  first, 
and  tragedy  afterwards." 

In  the  afternoon,  therefore,  he  sallied  out,  and 
went  boldly  to  the  Palazzo  Carmandola.  He  inquired 
of  the  porter  whether  the  Signer  Conte  had  gone  out, 
and  just  as  he  had  expected,  so  he  found  it.  Old 
Lira  had  left  the  house  ten  minutes  earlier,  to  go  to 
the  funeral.  Nino  ran  up  the  stairs  and  rang  the 
bell.  The  footman  opened  the  door,  and  Nino  quickly 
slipped  a  five-franc  note  into  his  hand,  which  he  had 
no  difficulty  in  finding.  On  being  asked  if  the  signo- 
rina  were  at  home,  the  footman  nodded,  and  added 
that  Professor  De  Pretis  was  with  her,  but  she  would 
doubtless  see  Professor  Cardegna  as  well.  And  so 
it  turned  out.  He  was  ushered  into  the  great  draw 
ing-room,  where  the  piano  was.  Hedwig  came  for 
ward  a  few  steps  from  where  she  had  been  standing 
beside  De  Pretis,  and  Nino  bowed  low  before  her. 
She  had  on  a  long  dark  dress,  and  no  ornament  what 
ever,  save  her  beautiful  bright  hair,  so  that  her  face 
was  like  a  jewel  set  in  gold  and  velvet.  But,  when 
I  think  of  it,  such  a  combination  would  seem  absurdly 
vulgar  by  the  side  of  Hedwig  von  Lira.  She  was  so 
pale  and  exquisite  and  sad  that  Nino  could  hardly 
look  at  her.  He  remembered  that  there  were  violets, 
rarest  of  flowers  in  Rome  in  January,  in  her  belt. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Nino  had  expected  to  find  her 
stern  and  cold,  whereas  she  was  only  very  quiet  and 
sorrowful. 

"Will  you  forgive  me,  signorina,  for  this  rash 
ness?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"In  that  I  receive  you  I  forgive  you,  sir,"  she  said. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  141 

He  glanced  toward  De  Pretis,  who  seemed  absorbed 
in  some  music  at  the  piano  and  was  playing  over  bits 
of  an  accompaniment.  She  understood,  and  moved 
slowly  to  a  window  at  the  other  end  of  the  great  room, 
standing  among  the  curtains.  He  placed  himself  in 
the  embrasure.  She  looked  at  him  long  and  ear 
nestly,  as  if  finally  reconciling  the  singer  with  the 
man  she  had  known  so  long.  She  found  him 
changed,  as  I  had,  in  a  short  time.  His  face  was 
sterner  and  thinner  and  whiter  than  before,  and  there 
were  traces  of  thought  in  the  deep  shadows  beneath 
his  eyes.  Quietly  observing  him,  she  saw  how  per 
fectly  simple  and  exquisitely  careful  was  his  dress, 
and  how  his  hands  bespoke  that  attention  which  only 
a  gentleman  gives  to  the  details  of  his  person.  She 
saw  that,  if  he  were  not  handsome,  he  was  in  the  last 
degree  striking  to  the  eye,  in  spite  of  all  his  sim 
plicity,  and  that  he  would  not  lose  by  being  compared 
with  all  the  dandies  and  courtiers  in  Rome.  As  she 
looked,  she  saw  his  lip  quiver  slightly,  the  only  sign 
of  emotion  he  ever  gives,  unless  he  loses  his  head 
altogether,  and  storms,  as  he  sometimes  does. 

"Signorina,"  he  began,  "I  have  come  to  tell  you  a 
story;  will  you  listen  to  it?" 

"Tell  it  me,"  said  she,  still  looking  in  his  face. 

"There  was  once  a  solitary  castle  in  the  moun 
tains,  with  battlement  and  moat  both  high  and  broad. 
Far  up  in  a  lonely  turret  dwelt  a  rare  maiden,  of  such 
surpassing  beauty  and  fairness  that  the  peasants 
thought  she  was  not  mortal,  but  an  angel  from  heaven, 
resting  in  that  tower  from  the  doing  of  good  deeds. 
She  had  flowers  up  there  in  her  chamber,  and  the 


142  A   KOMAN   SINGER. 

seeds  of  flowers ;  and  as  the  seasons  passed  by,  she 
took  from  her  store  the  dry  germs,  and  planted  them 
one  after  another  in  a  little  earth  on  the  window-sill. 
And  the  sun  shone  on  them  and  they  grew,  and  she 
breathed  upon  them  and  they  were  sweet.  But  they 
withered  and  bore  no  offspring,  and  fell  away,  so  that 
year  by  year  her  store  was  diminished.  At  last  there 
was  but  one  little  paper  bag  of  seed  left,  and  upon 
the  cover  was  written  in  a  strange  character,  4  This 
is  the  Seed  of  the  Thorn  of  the  World.'  But  the 
beautiful  maiden  was  sad  when  she  saw  this,  for  she 
said,  '  All  my  flowers  have  been  sweet,  and  now  I 
have  but  this  thing  left,  which  is  a  thorn  !'  And 
she  opened  the  paper  and  looked  inside,  and  saw 
one  poor  little  seed,  all  black  and  shriveled.  Through 
that  day  she  pondered  what  to  do  with  it,  and  was 
very  unhappy.  At  night  she  said  to  herself,  '  I  will 
not  plant  this  one;  I  will  throw  it  away,  rather  than 
plant  it.'  And  she  went  to  the  window,  and  tore 
the  paper,  and  threw  out  the  little  seed  into  the 
darkness." 

"Poor  little  thing!"  said  Hedwig.  She  was  lis 
tening  intently. 

"  She  threw  it  out,  and,  as  it  fell,  all  the  air  was 
full  of  music,  sad  and  sweet,  so  that  she  wondered 
greatly.  The  next  day  she  looked  out  of  the  win 
dow,  and  saw,  between  the  moat  and  the  castle  wall, 
a  new  plant  growing.  It  looked  black  and  uninvit 
ing,  but  it  had  come  up  so  fast  that  it  had  already 
laid  hold  on  the  rough  grey  stones.  At  the  falling 
of  the  night  it  reached  far  up  towards  the  turret,  a 
great  sharp-pointed  vine,  with  only  here  and  there  a 


A   KOMAN   SINGER.  143 

miserable  leaf  on  it.  4 1  am  sorry  I  threw  it  out,' 
said  the  maiden.  '  It  is  the  Thorn  of  the  World, 
and  the  people  who  pass  will  think  it  defaces  my 
castle.'  But  when  it  was  dark  again  the  air  was  full 
of  music.  The  maiden  went  to  the  window,  for  she 
could  not  sleep,  and  she  called  out,  asking  who  it 
was  that  sang.  Then  a  sweet,  low  voice  came  up  to 
her  from  the  moat.  'I  am  the  Thorn,'  it  said,  'I  sing 
in  the  dark,  for  I  am  growing.'  'Sing  on,  Thorn,' 
said  she,  '  and  grow  if  you  will. '  .But  in  the  morn 
ing,  when  she  awoke,  her  window  was  darkened,  for 
the  Thorn  had  grown  to  be  a  mighty  tree,  and  its 
topmost  shoots  were  black  against  the  sky.  She 
wondered  whether  this  uncouth  plant  would  bear  any 
thing  but  music.  So  she  spoke  to  it. 

"'  Thorn,'  she  said,  '  why  have  you  no  flowers? ' 

" '  I  am  the  Thorn  of  the  World, '  it  answered,  '  and 
I  can  bear  no  flowers  until  the  hand  that  planted  me 
has  tended  me,  and  pruned  me,  and  shaped  me  to  be 
its  own.  If  you  had  planted  me  like  the  rest,  it 
would  have  been  easy  for  you.  But  you  planted  me 
unwillingly,  down  below  you  by  the  moat,  and  I 
have  had  far  to  climb. ' 

" '  But  my  hands  are  so  delicate, '  said  the  maiden. 
'  You  will  hurt  me,  I  am  sure.' 

"4  Yours  is  the  only  hand  in  the  world  that  I  will 
not  hurt, '  said  the  voice,  so  tenderly  and  softly  and 
sadly  that  the  gentle  fingers  went  out  to  touch  the 
plant  and  see  if  it  were  real.  And  touching  it  they 
clung  there,  for  they  had  no  harm  of  it.  Would  you 
know,  my  lady,  what  happened  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  —  tell  me !  "  cried  Hedwig,  whose  imag 
ination  was  fascinated  by  the  tale. 


144  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

"As  her  hands  rested  on  the  spiked  branches,  a 
gentle  trembling  went  through  the  Thorn,  and  in  a 
moment  there  burst  out  such  a  blooming  and  blos 
soming  as  the  maiden  had  never  seen.  Every  prick 
became  a  rose,  and  they  were  so  many  that  the  light 
of  the  day  was  tinged  with  them,  and  their  sweetness 
was  like  the  breath  of  paradise.  But  below  her  win 
dow  the  Thorn  was  as  black  and  forbidding  as  ever, 
for  only  the  maiden's  presence  could  make  its  flowers 
bloom.  But  she  smelled  the  flowers,  and  pressed 
many  of  them  to  her  cheek. 

" 4 1  thought  you  were  only  a  Thorn, '  she  said 
softly. 

" '  Nay,  fairest  maiden, '  answered  the  glorious 
voice  of  the  bursting  blossom,  '  I  am  the  Rose  of  the 
World  for  ever,  since  you  have  touched  me.' 

"That  is  my  story,  signorina.  Have  I  wearied 
you?" 

Hedwig  had  unconsciously  moved  nearer  to  him  as 
he  was  speaking,  for  he  never  raised  his  voice,  and 
she  hung  on  his  words.  There  was  colour  in  her 
face,  and  her  breath  came  quickly  through  her  parted 
lips.  She  had  never  looked  so  beautiful. 

"  Wearied  me,  signore  ?  Ah  no ;  it  is  a  gentle  tale 
of  yours." 

"It  is  a  true  tale  —  in  part,"  said  he. 

"  In  part  ?  I  do  not  understand  "  —  But  the  colour 
was  warmer  in  her  cheek,  and  she  turned  her  face 
half  away,  as  though  looking  out. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  he  replied,  coming  closer,  on  the 
side  from  which  she  turned.  "  Here  is  the  window. 
You  are  the  maiden.  The  thorn  —  it  is  my  love  for 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  145 

you;"  he  dropped  his  voice  to  a  whisper.  "You 
planted  it  carelessly,  far  below  you  in  the  dark.  In 
the  dark  it  has  grown  and  sung  to  you,  and  grown 
again,  until  now  it  stands  in  your  own  castle  win 
dow.  Will  you  not  touch  it  and  make  its  flowers 
bloom  for  you?"  He  spoke  fervently.  She  had 
turned  her  face  quite  from  him  now,  and  was  resting 
her  forehead  against  one  hand  that  leaned  upon  the 
heavy  frame  of  the  casement.  The  other  hand  hung 
down  by  her  side  toward  him,  fair  as  a  lily  against 
her  dark  gown.  Nino  touched  it,  then  took  it.  He 
could  see  the  blush  spread  to  her  white  throat,  and 
fade  again.  Between  the  half-falling  curtain  and 
the  great  window  he  bent  his  knee  and  pressed  her 
fingers  to  his  lips.  She  made  as  though  she  would 
withdraw  her  hand,  and  then  left  it  in  his.  Her 
glance  stole  to  him  as  he  kneeled  there,  and  he  felt  it 
on  him,  so  that  he  looked  up.  She  seemed  to  raise 
him  with  her  fingers,  and  her  eyes  held  his  and  drew 
them;  he  stood  up,  and,  still  holding  her  hand,  his 
face  was  near  to  hers.  Closer  and  closer  yet,  as  by 
a  spell,  each  gazing  searchingly  into  the  other's 
glance,  till  their  eyes  could  see  no  more  for  close 
ness,  and  their  lips  met  in  life's  first  virgin  kiss,  — 
in  the  glory  and  strength  of  a  twofold  purity,  each  to 
each. 

Far  off  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  De  Pretis 
struck  a  chord  on  the  piano.  They  started  at  the 
sound. 

"  When  ?  "  whispered  Nino,  hurriedly. 

"At  midnight,  under  my  window,"  she  answered 
quickly,  not  thinking  of  anything  better  in  her  haste. 


146  A   EOMAN   SINGER. 

"I  will  tell  you  then.  You  must  go;  my  father  will 
soon  be  here.  No,  not  again,"  she  protested.  But 
he  drew  her  to  him,  and  said  good-bye  in  his  own 
manner.  She  lingered  an  instant,  and  tore  herself 
away.  De  Pretis  was  playing  loudly.  Nino  had  to 
pass  near  him  to  go  away,  and  the  maestro  nodded 
carelessly  as  he  went  by. 

"Excuse  me,  maestro,"  said  Hedwig,  as  Nino 
bowed  himself  out;  "it  was  a  question  of  arranging 
certain  lessons." 

"Do  not  mention  it,"  said  he  indifferently;  "my 
time  is  yours,  signorina.  Shall  we  go  through  with 
this  solfeggio  once  more  ?  " 

The  good  maestro  did  not  seem  greatly  disturbed 
by  the  interruption.  Hedwig  wondered,  dreamily, 
whether  he  had  understood.  It  all  seemed  like  a 
dream.  The  notes  were  upside  down  in  her  sight, 
and  her  voice  sought  strange  minor  keys  uncon 
sciously,  as  she  vainly  tried  to  concentrate  her  atten 
tion  upon  what  she  was  doing. 

"Signorina,"  said  Ercole  at  last,  "what  you  sing 
is  very  pretty,  but  it  is  not  exactly  what  is  written 
here.  I  fear  you  are  tired." 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  she.  "Let  us  not  sing  any 
more  to-day."  Ercole  shut  up  the  music  and  rose. 
She  gave  him  her  hand,  a  thing  she  had  never  done 
before;  and  it  was  unconscious  now,  as  everything 
she  did  seemed  to  be.  There  is  a  point  when  dream 
ing  gets  the  mastery,  and  appears  infinitely  more  real 
than  the  things  we  touch. 

Nino,  meanwhile,  had  descended  the  steps,  expect 
ing  every  moment  to  meet  the  count.  As  he  went 


A   ROMAN    SINGER.  147 

down  the  street,  a  closed  carriage  drove  by  with  the 
Lira  liveries.  The  old  count  was  in  it,  but  Nino 
stepped  into  the  shadow  of  a  doorway  to  let  the  equi 
page  pass,  and  was  not  seen.  The  wooden  face  of 
the  old  nobleman  almost  betrayed  something  akin  to 
emotion.  He  was  returning  from  the  funeral,  and 
it  had  pained  him;  for  he  had  liked  the  wild  baron 
ess,  in  a  fatherly,  reproving  way.  But  the  sight  of 
him  sent  a  home  thrust  to  Nino's  heart. 

"Her  death  is  on  my  soul  for  ever,''  he  muttered 
between  his  set  teeth. 

Poor  innocent  boy,  it  was  not  his  fault  if  she  had 
loved  him  so  much.  Women  have  done  things  for 
great  singers  which  they  have  not  done  for  martyrs 
or  heroes.  It  seems  so  certain  that  the  voice  that 
sings  so  tenderly  is  speaking  to  them  individually. 
Music  is  such  a  fleeting,  passionate  thing  that  a 
woman  takes  it  all  to  herself;  how  could  he  sing  like 
that  for  an}'  one  else  ?  And  yet  there  is  always  some 
one  for  whom  he  does  really  pour  out  his  heart,  and 
all  the  rest  are  the  dolls  of  life,  to  be  looked  at,  and 
admired  for  their  dress  and  complexion,  and  to  laugh 
at  when  the  fancy  takes  him  to  laugh;  but  not  to 
love. 

At  midnight  Nino  was  at  his  post,  but  he  waited 
long  and  patiently  for  a  sign.  It  was  past  two,  and 
he  was  thinking  it  hopeless  to  wait  longer,  when  his 
quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  a  window  moving  on 
its  hinges,  and  a  moment  later  something  fell  at  his 
feet  with  a  sharp,  metallic  click.  The  night  was 
dark  and  cloudy,  so  that  the  waning  moon  gave  little 
light  He  picked  up  the  thing,  and  found  a  small 


148  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

pocket  handkerchief  wrapped  about  a  minute  pair 
of  scissors,  apparently  to  give  it  weight.  He  ex 
pected  a  letter,  and  groped  on  the  damp  pavement 
with  his  hands.  Then  he  struck  a  match,  shaded  it 
from  the  breeze  with  his  hand,  and  saw  that  the 
handkerchief  was  stained  with  ink  and  that  the  stains 
were  letters,  roughly  printed  to  make  them  distinct. 
He  hurried  away  to  the  light  of  a  street  lamp  to  read 
the  strange  missive. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  149 


CHAPTER  X. 

HE  went  to  the  light  and  spread  out  the  handker 
chief.  It  was  a  small  thing,  of  almost  transparent 
stuff,  with  a  plain  "H.  L."  and  a  coronet  in  the  cor 
ner.  The  steel  pen  had  torn  the  delicate  fibres  here 
and  there. 

"  They  know  you  have  been  here.  I  am  watched. 
Keep  away  from  the  house  till  you  hear." 

That  was  all  the  message,  but  it  told  worlds.  He 
knew  from  it  that  the  count  was  informed  of  his 
visit,  and  he  tortured  himself  by  trying  to  imagine 
what  the  angry  old  man  would  do.  His  heart  sank 
like  a  stone  in  his  breast  when  he  thought  of  Hedwig 
so  imprisoned,  guarded,  made  a  martyr  of,  for  his 
folly.  He  groaned  aloud  when  he  understood  that  it 
was  in  the  power  of  her  father  to  take  her  away  sud 
denly  and  leave  no  trace  of  their  destination,  and  he 
cursed  his  haste  and  impetuosity  in  having  shown 
himself  inside  the  house.  But  with  all  this  weight 
of  trouble  upon  him,  he  felt  the  strength  and  indomi 
table  determination  within  him  which  come  only  to 
a  man  who  loves,  when  he  knows  he  is  loved  again. 
He  kissed  the  little  handkerchief,  and  even  the  scis 
sors  she  had  used  to  weight  it  with,  and  he  put  them 
in  his  bosom.  But  he  stood  irresolute,  leaning 
against  the  lamp-post,  as  a  man  will  who  is  trying  to 


150  A   KOMAN   SINGER. 

force  his  thoughts  to  overtake  events,  trying  to  shape 
the  future  out  of  the  present.  Suddenly,  he  was 
aware  of  a  tall  figure  in  a  fur  coat  standing  near  him 
on  the  sidewalk.  He  would  have  turned  to  go,  but 
something  about  the  stranger's  appearance  struck  him 
so  oddly  that  he  stayed  where  he  was  and  watched 
him. 

The  tall  man  searched  for  something  in  his  pockets, 
and  finally  produced  a  cigarette,  which  he  leisurely 
lighted  with  a  wax  match.  As  he  did  so  his  eyes 
fell  upon  Nino.  The  stranger  was  tall  and  very  thin. 
He  wore  a  pointed  beard  and  a  heavy  moustache, 
which  seemed  almost  dazzlingly  white,  as  were  the 
few  locks  that  appeared,  neatly  brushed  over  his  tem 
ples,  beneath  his  opera  hat.  His  sanguine  complex 
ion,  however,  had  all  the  freshness  of  youth,  and  his 
eyes  sparkled  merrily,  as  though  amused  at  the  spec 
tacle  of  his  nose,  which  was  immense,  curved,  and 
polished,  like  an  eagle's  beak.  He  wore  perfectly 
fitting  kid  gloves,  and  the  collar  of  his  fur  wrapper, 
falling  a  little  open,  showed  that  he  was  in  evening 
dress. 

It  was  so  late  —  past  two  o'clock  —  that  Nino  had 
not  expected  anything  more  than  a  policeman  or  some 
homeless  wanderer,  when  he  raised  his  eyes  to  look 
on  the  stranger.  He  was  fascinated  by  the  strange 
presence  of  the  aged  dandy,  and  returned  his  gaze 
boldly.  He  was  still  more  astonished,  however, 
when  the  old  gentleman  came  close  to  him,  and 
raised  his  hat,  displaying,  as  he  did  so,  a  very  high 
and  narrow  forehead,  crowned  with  a  mass  of  smooth 
white  hair.  There  was  both  grace  and  authority  in 


A   ROMAN    SINGER.  151 

the  courteous  gesture,  and  Nino  thought  the  old  gen 
tleman  moved  with  an  ease  that  matched  his  youth 
ful  complexion  rather  than  his  hoary  locks. 

"Signer  Cardegna,  the  distinguished  artist,  if  I 
mistake  not?"  said  the  stranger,  with  a  peculiar 
foreign  accent,  the  like  of  which  Nino  had  never 
heard.  He,  also,  raised  his  hat,  extremely  surprised 
that  a  chance  passer-by  should  know  him.  He  had 
not  yet  learned  what  it  is  to  be  famous.  But  he 
was  far  from  pleased  at  being  addressed  in  his  pres 
ent  mood. 

"The  same,  signore,"  he  replied  coldly.  "How 
can  I  serve  you  ?  " 

"  You  can  serve  the  world  you  so  well  adorn  better 
than  by  exposing  your  noble  voice  to  the  midnight 
damps  and  chills  of  this  infernal  —  I  would  say,  eter 
nal —  city,"  answered  the  other.  "Forgive  me.  I 
am,  not  unnaturally,  concerned  at  the  prospect  of 
losing  even  a  small  portion  of  the  pleasure  you  know 
how  to  give  to  me  and  to  many  others." 

"I  thank  you  for  your  flattery,"  said  Nino,  draw 
ing  his  cloak  about  him,  "but  it  appears  to  me  that 
my  throat  is  my  own,  and  whatever  voice  there  may 
be  in  it.  Are  you  a  physician,  signore  ?  And  pray 
why  do  you  tell  me  that  Rome  is  an  infernal  city  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  some  experience  of  Rome,  Signer  Car 
degna,"  returned  the  foreigner,  with  a  peculiar  smile, 
"and  I  hate  no  place  so  bitterly  in  all  this  world  — 
save  one.  And  as  for  my  being  a  physician,  I  am  an 
old  man,  a  very  singularly  old  man  in  fact,  and  1 
know  something  of  the  art  of  healing." 

"When  I  need  healing,  as  you  call  it,"  said  Nino 


152  A  KOMAN  SINGER. 

rather  scornfully,  "  I  will  inquire  for  you.  Do  you 
desire  to  continue  this  interview  amid  the  '  damps 
and  chills  '  of  our  '  infernal  city '  ?  If  not,  I  will 
wish  you  good-evening." 

"By  no  means,"  said  the  other,  not  in  the  least 
repulsed  by  Nino's  coldness.  "I  will  accompany 
you  a  little  way,  if  you  will  allow  me." 

Nino  stared  hard  at  the  stranger,  wondering  what 
could  induce  him  to  take  so  much  interest  in  a 
singer.  Then  he  nodded  gravely,  and  turned  toward 
his  home,  inwardly  hoping  that  his  aggressive  ac 
quaintance  lived  in  the  opposite  direction.  But  he 
was  mistaken.  The  tall  man  blew  a  quantity  of 
smoke  through  his  nose  and  walked  by  his  side.  He 
strode  over  the  pavement  with  a  long,  elastic  step. 

"I  live  not  far  from  here,"  he  said,  when  they  had 
gone  a  few  steps,  "  and  if  the  Signor  Cardegna  will 
accept  of  a  glass  of  old  wine  and  a  good  cigar  I  shall 
feel  highly  honoured."  Somehow  an  invitation  of 
this  kind  was  the  last  thing  Nino  had  expected  or 
desired,  least  of  all  from  a  talkative  stranger  who 
seemed  determined  to  make  his  acquaintance. 

"I  thank  you,  signore,"  he  answered,  "but  I  have 
supped,  and  I  do  not  smoke." 

"  Ah  —  I  forgot.  You  are  a  singer,  and  must  of 
course  be  careful.  That  is  perhaps  the  reason  why 
you  wander  about  the  streets  when  the  nights  are 
dark  and  damp.  But  I  can  offer  you  something  more 
attractive  than  liquor  and  tobacco.  A  great  violinist 
lives  with  me,  a  queer,  nocturnal  bird,  —  and  if  you 
will  come  he  will  be  enchanted  to  play  for  you.  I 
assure  you  he  is  a  very  good  musician,  the  like  of 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  153 

whom  you  will  hardly  hear  nowadays.  He  does  not 
play  in  public  any  longer,  from  some  odd  fancy  of 
his.'' 

Nino  hesitated.  Of  all  instruments  he  loved  the 
violin  best,  and  in  Rome  he  had  had  but  little  oppor 
tunity  of  hearing  it  well  played.  Concerts  were  the 
rarest  of  luxuries  to  him,  and  violinists  in  Rome  are 
rarer  still. 

"  What  is  his  name,  signore  ?  "  he  asked,  unbend 
ing  a  little. 

"You  must  guess  that  when  you  hear  him,"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  But  I  give 
you  my  word  of  honour  that  he  is  a  great  musician. 
Will  you  come,  or  must  I  offer  you  further  attrac 
tions?" 

"  What  might  they  be  ?  "  asked  Nino. 

"Nay;  will  you  come  for  what  I  offer  you?  If 
the  music  is  not  good,  you  may  go  away  again." 
Still  Nino  hesitated.  Sorrowful  and  fearful  of  the 
future  as  he  was,  his  love  gnawing  cruelly  at  his 
heart,  he  would  have  given  the  whole  world  for  a 
strain  of  rare  music  if  only  he  were  not  forced  to 
make  it  himself.  Then  it  struck  him  that  this  might 
be  some  pitfall.  I  would  not  have  gone. 

"Sir,"  he  said  at  last,  "if  you  meditate  any  foul 
play,  I  would  advise  you  to  retract  your  invitation. 
I  will  come,  and  I  am  well  armed." 

He  had  my  long  knife  about  him  somewhere.  It 
is  one  of  my  precautions.  But  the  stranger  laughed 
long  and  loud  at  the  suggestion,  so  that  his  voice 
woke  queer  echoes  in  the  silent  street.  Nino  did  not 
understand  why  he  should  laugh  so  much,  but  he 


154  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

found  his  knife  under  his  cloak,  and  made  sure  it 
was  loose  in  its  leathern  sheath.  Presently  the 
stranger  stopped  before  the  large  door  of  an  old 
palazzo,  —  every  house  is  a  palazzo  which  has  an 
entrance  for  carriages,  —  and  let  himself  in  with  a 
key.  There  was  a  lantern  on  the  stone  pavement 
inside,  and  seeing  a  light,  Nino  followed  him  boldly. 
The  old  gentleman  took  the  lantern  and  led  the  way 
up  the  stairs,  apologising  for  the  distance  and  the 
darkness.  At  last  they  stopped,  and,  entering  another 
door,  found  themselves  in  the  stranger's  apartment. 

"A  cardinal  lives  down-stairs,"  said  he,  as  he 
turned  up  the  light  of  a  couple  of  large  lamps  which 
burned  dimly  in  the  room  they  had  reached.  "  The 
secretary  of  a  very  holy  order  has  his  office  on  the 
other  side  of  my  landing,  and  altogether  this  is  a 
very  religious  atmosphere.  Pray  take  off  your  cloak; 
the  room  is  warm." 

Nino  looked  about  him.  He  had  expected  to  be 
ushered  into  some  princely  dwelling,  for  he  had 
judged  his  interlocutor  to  be  some  rich  and  eccentric 
noble,  unless  he  were  an  erratic  scamp.  He  was 
somewhat  taken  aback  by  the  spectacle  that  met  his 
eyes.  The  furniture  was  scant,  and  all  in  the  style 
of  the  last  century.  The  dust  lay  half  an  inch  thick 
on  the  old  gilded  ornaments  and  chandeliers.  A 
great  pier-glass  was  cracked  from  corner  to  corner, 
and  the  metallic  backing  seemed  to  be  scaling  off 
behind.  There  were  two  or  three  open  valises  on 
the  marble  floor,  which  latter,  however,  seemed  to 
have  been  lately  swept.  A  square  table  was  in  the 
centre,  also  free  from  dust,  and  a  few  high-backed 


A   HOMAN   SINGER.  155 

leathern  chairs,  studded  with  brass  nails,  were  ranged 
about  it.  On  the  table  stood  one  of  the  lamps,  and 
the  other  was  placed  on  a  marble  column  in  a  corner, 
which  once  must  have  supported  a  bust,  or  some 
thing  of  the  sort.  Old  curtains,  moth-eaten  and 
ragged  with  age,  but  of  a  rich  material,  covered  the 
windows.  Nino  glanced  at  the  open  trunks  on  the 
floor,  and  saw  that  they  contained  a  quantity  of  wear 
ing  apparel  and  the  like.  He  guessed  that  his  ac 
quaintance  had  lately  arrived. 

"I  do  not  often  inhabit  this  den,"  said  the  old  gen 
tleman,  who  had  divested  himself  of  his  furs,  and 
now  showed  his  thin  figure  arrayed  in  the  extreme  of 
full  dress.  A  couple  of  decorations  hung  at  his 
button-hole.  "I  seldom  come  here,  and  on  my  re 
turn,  the  other  day,  I  found  that  the  man  I  had  left 
in  charge  was  dead,  with  all  his  family,  and  the  place 
has  gone  to  ruin.  That  is  always  my  luck,"  he  added, 
with  a  little  laugh. 

"I  should  think  he  must  have  been  dead  some 
time,"  said  Nino,  looking  about  him.  "There  is  a 
great  deal  of  dust  here." 

"  Yes,  as  you  say,  it  is  some  years,"  returned  his 
acquaintance,  still  laughing.  He  seemed  a  merry  old 
soul,  fifty  years  younger  than  his  looks.  He  pro 
duced  from  a  case  a  bottle  of  wine  and  two  silver 
cups,  and  placed  them  on  the  table. 

"  But  where  is  your  friend,  the  violinist?"  inquired 
Nino,  who  was  beginning  to  be  impatient ;  for  except 
that  the  place  was  dusty  and  old,  there  was  nothing 
about  it  sufficiently  interesting  to  take  his  thoughts 
from  the  subject  nearest  his  heart. 


156  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"I  will  introduce  him  to  you,"  said  the  other, 
going  to  one  of  the  valises  and  taking  out  a  violin 
case,  which  he  laid  on  the  table  and  proceeded  to 
open.  The  instrument  was  apparently  of  great  age, 
small  and  well  shaped.  The  stranger  took  it  up  and 
began  to  tune  it. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  yourself  the 
violinist  ? "  he  asked,  in  astonishment.  But  the 
stranger  vouchsafed  no  answer,  as  he  steadied  the  fid 
dle  with  his  bearded  chin  and  turned  the  pegs  with 
his  left  hand,  adjusting  the  strings. 

Then,  suddenly  and  without  any  preluding,  he 
began  to  make  music,  and  from  the  first  note  Nino 
sat  enthralled  and  fascinated,  losing  himself  in  the 
wild  sport  of  the  tones.  The  old  man's  face  became 
ashy  white  as  he  played,  and  his  white  hair  appeared 
to  stand  away  from  his  head.  The  long,  thin  fingers 
of  his  left  hand  chased  each  other  in  pairs  and  singly 
along  the  delicate  strings,  while  the  bow  glanced  in 
the  lamplight  as  it  dashed  like  lightning  across  the 
instrument,  or  remained  almost  stationary,  quivering 
in  his  magic  hold  as  quickly  as  the  wings  of  the 
humming-bird  strike  the  summer  air.  Sometimes  he 
seemed  to  be  tearing  the  heart  from  the  old  violin ; 
sometimes  it  seemed  to  murmur  soft  things  in  his  old 
ear,  as  though  the  imprisoned  spirit  of  the  music 
were  pleading  to  be  free  on  the  wings  of  sound : 
sweet  as  love  that  is  strong  as  death;  feverish  and 
murderous  as  jealousy  that  is  as  cruel  as  the  grave ; 
sobbing  great  sobs  of  a  terrible  death-song,  and  scream 
ing  in  the  outrageous  frenzy  of  a  furious  foe ;  wailing 
thin  cries  of  misery,  too  exhausted  for  strong  grief ; 


A  BOMAN   SINGER.  157 

dancing  again  in  horrid  madness,  as  the  devils  dance 
over  some  fresh  sinner  they  have  gotten  unto  them 
selves  for  torture ;  and  then  at  last,  as  the  strings 
bent  to  the  commanding  bow,  finding  the  triumph  of 
a  glorious  rest  in  great,  broad  chords,  splendid  in 
depth  and  royal  harmony,  grand,  enormous,  and  mas 
sive  as  the  united  choirs  of  heaven. 

Nino  was  beside  himself,  leaning  far  over  the  table, 
straining  eyes  and  ears  to  understand  the  wonderful 
music  that  made  him  drunk  with  its  strength.  As 
the  tones  ceased  he  sank  back  in  his  chair,  exhausted 
by  the  tremendous  effort  of  his  senses.  Instantly  the 
old  man  recovered  his  former  appearance.  With  his 
hand  he  smoothed  the  thick  white  hair;  the  fresh 
colour  came  back  to  his  cheeks ;  and  as  he  tenderly 
laid  his  violin  on  the  table,  he  was  again  the  exqui 
sitely  dressed  and  courtly  gentleman  who  had  spoken 
to  Nino  in  the  street.  The  musician  disappeared, 
and  the  man  of  the  world  returned.  He  poured  wine 
into  the  plain  silver  cups,  and  invited  Nino  to  drink ; 
but  the  boy  pushed  the  goblet  away,  and  his  strange 
host  drank  alone. 

"  You  asked  me  for  the  musician's  name,"  he  said, 
with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye,  from  which  every 
trace  of  artistic  inspiration  had  faded ;  "  can  you  guess 
it  now  ?  "  Nino  seemed  tongue-tied  still,  but  he  made 
an  effort. 

"  I  have  heard  of  Paganini,"  he  said,  "  but  he  died 
years  ago." 

"Yes,  he  is  dead,  poor  fellow!  I  am  not  Paga- 
nini." 

"  I  am  at  a  loss,  then,"  said  Nino  dreamily.     "  I  do 


158  A    ROMAN    SINGER. 

not  know  the  names  of  many  violinists,  but  you  must 
be  so  famous  that  I  ought  to  know  yours." 

"No;  how  should  you?  I  will  tell  you.  I  am 
Benoni,  the  Jew." 

The  tall  man's  eyes  twinkled  more  brightly  than 
ever.  Nino  stared  at  him,  and  saw  that  he  was  cer 
tainly  of  a  pronounced  Jewish  type.  His  brown  eyes 
were  long  and  oriental  in  shape,  and  his  nose  was 
unmistakably  Semitic. 

44 1  am  sorry  to  seem  so  ignorant,"  said  Nino, 
blushing,  "  but  I  do  not  know  the  name.  I  perceive, 
however,  that  you  are  indeed  a  very  great  musician, 
—  the  greatest  I  ever  heard." 

The  compliment  was  perfectly  sincere,  and  Benoni's 
face  beamed  with  pleasure.  He  evidently  liked 
praise. 

"  It  is  not  extraordinary,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  In 
the  course  of  a  very  long  life  it  has  been  my  only 
solace,  and  if  I  have  some  skill  it  is  the  result  of  con 
stant  study.  I  began  life  very  humbly." 

44  So  did  I,"  said  Nino  thoughtfully,  4t  and  I  am  not 
far  from  the  humbleness  yet." 

44  Tell  me,"  said  Benoni,  with  a  show  of  interest, 
44  where  you  come  from,  and  why  you  are  a  singer." 

44 1  was  a  peasant's  child,  an  orphan,  and  the  good 
God  gave  me  a  voice.  That  is  all  I  know  about  it. 
A  kind-hearted  gentleman,  who  once  owned  the 
estate  where  I  was  born,  brought  me  up,  and  wanted 
to  make  a  philosopher  of  me.  But  I  wanted  to  sing, 
and  so  I  did." 

44 Do  you  always  do  the  things  you  want  to  do?" 
asked  the  other.  44  You  look  as  though  you  might. 


A    ROMAN   SINGER.  159 

You  look  like  Napoleon,  —  that  man  always  inter 
ested  me.  That  is  why  I  asked  you  to  come  and  see 
me.  I  have  heard  you  sing,  and  you  are  a  great 
artist,  —  an  additional  reason.  All  artists  should  be 
brothers.  Do  you  not  think  so  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  know  very  few  good  ones,"  said  Nino 
simply ;  "  and  even  among  them  I  should  like  to 
choose  before  claiming  relationship — personally. 
But  Art  is  a  great  mother,  and  we  are  all  her 
children." 

"  More  especially  we  who  began  life  so  poorly,  and 
love  Art  because  she  loves  us."  Benoni  seated  him 
self  on  the  arm  of  one  of  the  old  chairs,  and  looked 
down  across  the  worm-eaten  table  at  the  young 
singer.  "We,"  he  continued,  "who  have  been 
wretchedly  poor  know  better  than  others  that  art  is 
real,  true,  and  enduring;  medicine  in  sickness  and 
food  in  famine ;  wings  to  the  feet  of  youth  and  a  staff 
for  the  steps  of  old  age.  Do  you  think  I  exag 
gerate,  or  do  you  feel  as  I  do?"  He  paused  for  a 
reply,  and  poured  more  wine  into  his  goblet. 

"  Oh,  you  know  I  feel  as  you  do  I "  cried  Nino, 
with  rising  enthusiasm. 

"Very  good;  you  are  a  genuine  artist.  What 
you  have  not  felt  yet,  you  will  feel  hereafter.  You 
have  not  suffered  yet." 

"  You  do  not  know  about  me,"  said  Nino  in  a  low 
voice.  "I  am  suffering  now." 

Benoni  smiled.  "  Do  you  call  that  suffering  ? 
Well,  it  is  perhaps  very  real  to  you,  though  I  do 
not  know  what  it  is.  But  art  will  help  you  through 
it  all,  as  it  has  helped  me." 


160  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

"  What  were  you  ?  "  asked  Nino.  "  You  say  you 
were  poor." 

"  Yes.  I  was  a  shoemaker,  and  a  poor  one  at  that. 
I  have  worn  out  more  shoes  than  I  ever  made.  But 
I  was  brought  up  to  it  for  many  years." 

"You  did  not  study  music  from  a  child,  then?" 

"  No.  But  I  always  loved  it ;  and  I  used  to  play 
in  the  evenings,  when  I  had  been  cobbling  all  day 
long." 

"  And  one  day  you  found  out  you  were  a  great 
artist  and  became  famous.  I  see !  What  a  strange 
beginning !  "  cried  Nino. 

"  Not  exactly  that.  It  took  a  long  time.  I  was 
obliged  to  leave  my  home,  for  other  reasons,  and 
then  I  played  from  door  to  door,  and  from  town  to 
town,  for  whatever  coppers  were  thrown  to  me.  I 
had  never  heard  any  good  music,  and  so  I  played 
the  things  that  came  into  my  head.  By  and  by 
people  would  make  me  stay  with  them  awhile,  for 
my  music's  sake.  But  I  never  stayed  long." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you  now,"  said  Benoni,  looking 
grave  and  almost  sad :  "  it  is  a  very  long  story.  I 
have  traveled  a  great  deal,  preferring  a  life  of  ad 
venture.  But  of  late  money  has  grown  to  be  so 
important  a  thing  that  I  have  given  a  series  of  great 
concerts,  and  have  become  rich  enough  to  play  for 
my  own  pleasure.  Besides,  though  I  travel  so  much, 
I  like  society,  and  I  know  many  people  everywhere. 
To-night,  for  instance,  though  I  have  been  in  Rome 
only  a  week,  I  have  been  to  a  dinner  party,  to  the 
theatre,  to  a  reception,  and  to  a  ball.  Everybody 


A  KOMAN   SINGER.  161 

invites  me  as  soon  as  I  arrive.  I  am  very  popular, 
—  and  yet  I  am  a  Jew,"  he  added,  laughing  in  an 
odd  way. 

"  But  you  are  a  merry  Jew,"  said  Nino,  laughing 
too,  "  besides  being  a  great  genius.  I  do  not  wonder 
people  invite  you." 

"  It  is  better  to  be  merry  than  sad,"  replied  Benoni. 
"  In  the  course  of  a  long  life  I  have  found  out  that." 

"  You  do  not  look  so  very  old,"  said  Nino.  "  How 
old  are  you  ?  " 

"That  is  a  rude  question,"  said  his  host,  laugh 
ing.  "  But  I  will  improvise  a  piece  of  music  for 
you."  He  took  his  violin,  and  stood  up  before  the 
broken  pier-glass.  Then  he  laid  the  bow  over  the 
strings  and  struck  a  chord.  "What  is  that?"  he 
asked,  sustaining  the  sound. 

"  The  common  chord  of  A  minor,"  answered  Nino 
immediately. 

"  You  have  a  good  ear,"  said  Benoni,  still  playing 
the  same  notes,  so  that  the  constant  monotony  of 
them  buzzed  like  a  vexatious  insect  in  Nino's  hear 
ing.  Still  the  old  man  sawed  the  bow  over  the  same 
strings  without  change.  On  and  on,  the  same  ever 
lasting  chord,  till  Nino  thought  he  must  go  mad. 

"  It  is  intolerable ;  for  the  love  of  Heaven  stop ! " 
he  cried,  pushing  back  his  chair  and  beginning  to 
pace  the  room.  Benoni  only  smiled,  and  went  on  as 
unchangingly  as  ever.  Nino  could  bear  it  no  longer, 
being  very  sensitive  about  sounds,  and  he  made  for 
the  door. 

"  You  cannot  get  out,  —  I  have  the  key  in  my 
pocket/'  said  Benoni,  without  stopping. 


162  A    ROMAN   SINGER. 

Then  Nino  became  nearly  frantic,  and  made  at  the 
Jew  to  wrest  the  instrument  from  his  hands.  But 
Benoiii  was  agile,  and  eluded  him,  still  playing  the 
one  chord,  till  Nino  cried  aloud,  and  sank  in  a  chair, 
entirely  overcome  by  the  torture,  that  seemed  boring 
its  way  into  his  brain  like  a  corkscrew. 

"This,"  said  Benoni,  the  bow  still  sawing  the 
strings,  "  is  life  without  laughter.  Now  let  us  laugh 
a  little,  and  see  the  effect." 

It  was  indeed  wonderful.  With  his  instrument  he 
imitated  the  sound  of  a  laughing  voice,  high  up  above 
the  monotonous  chord :  softly  at  first,  as  though  far 
in  the  distance ;  then  louder  and  nearer,  the  sustain 
ing  notes  of  the  minor  falling  away  one  after  the 
other  and  losing  themselves,  as  the  merriment  gained 
ground  on  the  sadness;  till  finally,  with  a  burst  of 
life  and  vitality  of  which  it  would  be  impossible  to 
convey  any  idea,  the  whole  body  of  mirth  broke  into 
a  wild  tarantella  movement,  so  vivid  and  elastic  and 
noisy  that  it  seemed  to  Nino  that  he  saw  the  very  feet 
of  the  dancers,  and  heard  the  jolly  din  of  the  tam 
bourine  and  the  clattering,  clappering  click  of  the 
castanets. 

"That,"  said  Benoni,  suddenly  stopping,  "is  life 
with  laughter,  be  it  ever  so  sad  and  monotonous  be 
fore.  Which  do  you  prefer?" 

"  You  are  the  greatest  artist  in  the  world ! "  cried 
Nino  enthusiastically;  "but  I  should  have  been  a 
raving  madman  if  you  had  played  that  chord  any 
longer." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Benoni,  "  and  I  should  have  gone 
mad  if  I  had  not  laughed.  Poor  Schumann,  you 


A   ROMAN    SINGER.  163 

know,  died  insane  because  he  fancied  he  always  heard 
one  note  droning  in  his  ears." 

"  I  can  understand  that,"  said  Nino.  "  But  it  is 
late,  and  I  must  be  going  home.  Forgive  my  rude 
ness  and  reluctance  to  come  with  you.  I  was  moody 
and  unhappy.  You  have  given  me  more  pleasure 
than  I  can  tell  you." 

"  It  will  seem  little  enough  to-morrow,  I  dare  say," 
replied  Benoni.  "  That  is  the  way  with  pleasures. 
But  you  should  get  them  all  the  same,  when  you  can, 
and  grasp  them  as  tightly  as  a  drowning  man  grasps  a 
straw.  Pleasures  and  money,  money  and  pleasures." 

Nino  did  not  understand  the  tone  in  which  his  host 
made  this  last  remark.  He  had  learned  different 
doctrines  from  me. 

"  Why  do  you  speak  so  selfishly,  after  showing 
that  you  can  give  pleasure  so  freely,  and  telling  me 
that  we  are  all  brothers  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  If  you  are  not  in  a  hurry,  I  will  explain  to  you 
that  money  is  the  only  thing  in  this  world  worth 
having,"  said  Benoni,  drinking  another  cup  of  the 
wine,  which  appeared  to  have  no  effect  whatever  on 
his  brain. 

"Well?"  said  Nino,  curious  to  hear  what  he  had 
to  say. 

44  In  the  first  place  you  will  allow  that  from  the 
noblest  moral  standpoint  a  man's  highest  aim  should 
be  to  do  good  to  his  fellow  creatures?  Yes,  you 
allow  that.  And  to  do  the  greatest  possible  good  to 
the  greatest  possible  number  ?  Yes,  you  allow  that, 
also.  Then,  I  say,  other  things  being  alike,  a  good 
man  will  do  the  greatest  possible  amount  of  good  in 


164  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

the  world  when  h  has  the  greatest  possible  amount 
of  monejr.  The  more  money,  the  more  good;  the 
less  money,  the  less  good.  Of  course  money  is  only 
the  means  to  the  end,  but  nothing  tangible  in  the 
world  can  ever  be  anything  else.  All  art  is  only  a 
means  to  the  exciting  of  still  more  perfect  images  in 
the  brain ;  all  crime  is  a  means  to  the  satisfaction  of 
passion,  or  avarice  which  is  itself  a  king-passion,  all 
good  itself  is  a  means  to  the  attainment  of  heaven. 
Everything  is  bad  or  good  in  the  world,  except  art, 
which  is  a  thing  separate,  though  having  good  and 
bad  results.  But  the  attainment  of  heaven  is  the 
best  object  to  keep  in  view.  To  that  end,  do  the 
most  good ;  and  to  do  it,  get  the  most  money.  There 
fore,  as  a  means,  money  is  the  only  thing  in  the  world 
worth  having,  since  you  can  most  benefit  humanity 
by  it,  and  consequently  be  the  most  sure  of  going  to 
heaven  when  you  die.  Is  that  clear?" 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Nino,  "  provided  a  man  is  himself 
good." 

"It  is  very  reprehensible  to  be  bad,"  said  Benoni, 
with  a  smile. 

"  What  a  ridiculous  truism  !  "  said  Nino,  laughing 
outright. 

"Very  likely,"  said  the  other.  "But  I  never 
heard  any  preacher,  in  any  country,  tell  his  congre 
gation  anything  else.  And  people  always  listen  with 
attention.  In  countries  where  rain  is  entirely  un 
known,  it  is  not  a  truism  to  say  that  4  when  it  rains 
it  is  damp.'  On  the  contrary,  in  such  countries  that 
statement  would  be  regarded  as  requiring  demonstra 
tion,  and,  once  demonstrated,  it  would  be  treasured 


UNIVERSITY 

s 

A  KOMAN   SINGER. 

and  taught  as  an  interesting  scientific  fact.  Now  it 
is  precisely  the  same  with  congregations  of  men. 
They  were  never  bad,  and  never  can  be  ;  in  fact,  they 
doubt,  in  their  dear  innocent  hearts,  whether  they 
know  what  a  real  sin  is.  Consequently  they  listen 
with  interest  to  the  statement  that  sin  is  bad,  and 
promise  themselves  that  if  ever  that  piece  of  informa 
tion  should  be  unexpectedly  needed  by  any  of  their 
friends,  they  will  remember  it." 

"  You  are  a  satirist,  Signor  Benoni,"  said  Nino. 

"  Anything  you  like,"  returned  the  other.  "I  have 
been  called  by  worse  names  than  that,  in  my  time. 
So  much  for  heaven,  and  the  prospect  of  it.  But  a 
gentleman  has  arisen  in  a  foreign  country  who  says 
that  there  is  no  heaven  anywhere,  and  that  no  one 
does  good  except  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  here  or 
hereafter.  But  as  his  hereafter  is  nowhere,  disregard 
it  in  the  argument,  and  say  that  man  should  only  do, 
or  actually  does,  everything  solely  for  the  sake  of 
pleasure  here  ;  say  that  pleasure  is  good,  so  long  as 
it  does  not  interfere  with  the  pleasures  of  others,  and 
good  is  pleasure.  Money  may  help  a  man  to  more 
of  it,  but  pleasure  is  the  thing.  Well,  then,  my 
young  brother  artist,  what  did  I  say  ?  — l  money  and 
pleasure,  pleasure  and  money.'  The  means  are  there ; 
and  as,  of  course,  you  are  good,  like  everybody  else, 
and  desire  pleasure,  you  will  get  to  heaven  hereafter, 
if  there  is  such  a  place ;  and  if  not,  you  will  get  the 
next  thing  to  it,  which  is  a  paradise  on  earth."  Hav 
ing  reached  this  climax,  Signor  Benoni  lit  a  cigarette, 
and  laughed  his  own  peculiar  laugh. 

Nino  shuddered  involuntarily  at  the  hideous  sophis- 


166  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

try.  For  Nino  is  a  good  boy,  and  believes  very  much 
in  heaven,  as  well  as  in  a  couple  of  other  places. 
Benoni's  quick  brown  eyes  saw  the  movement,  and 
understood  it,  for  he  laughed  longer  yet,  and  louder. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  like  that  ?  I  see  nothing  to 
laugh  at.  It  is  very  bitter  and  bad  to  hear,  all  this 
that  you  say.  I  would  rather  hear  your  music.  You 
are  badly  off,  whether  you  believe  in  heaven  or  not. 
For  if  you  do,  you  are  not  likely  to  get  there ;  and  if 
you  do  not  believe  in  it,  you  are  a  heretic,  and  will 
be  burned  for  ever  and  ever." 

"Not  so  badly  answered,  for  an  artist;  and  in  a 
few  words,  too,"  said  Benoni  approvingly.  "But, 
my  dear  boy,  the  trouble  is  that  I  shall  not  get  to 
heaven  either  way,  for  it  is  my  great  misfortune  to 
be  already  condemned  to  everlasting  flames." 

"  No  one  is  that,"  said  Nino  gravely. 

"There  are  some  exceptions,  you  know,"  said 
Benoni. 

"  Well,"  answered  the  young  man  thoughtfully, 
"of  course  there  is  the  Wandering  Jew,  and  such 
tales,  but  nobody  believes  in  him." 

"Good-night,"  said  Benoni.  "I  am  tired,  and 
must  go  to  bed." 

Nino  found  his  way  out  alone,  but  carefully  noted 
the  position  of  the  palazzo  before  he  went  home 
through  the  deserted  streets.  It  was  four  in  the 
morning. 


A  HUMAN   SINQEK.  1.6? 


CHAPTER  XL 

EARLY  in  the  morning  after  Nino's  visit  to  Signor 
Benoni,  De  Pretis  came  to  my  house,  wringing  his 
hands  and  making  a  great  trouble  and  noise.  I  had 
not  yet  seen  Nino,  who  was  sound  asleep,  though  I 
could  not  imagine  why  he  did  not  wake.  But  De 
Pretis  was  in  such  a  temper  that  he  shook  the  room 
and  everything  in  it,  as  he  stamped  about  the  brick 
floor.  It  was  not  long  before  he  had  told  me  the 
cause  of  his  trouble.  He  had  just  received  a  formal 
note  from  the  Graf  von  Lira,  inclosing  the  amount 
due  to  him  for  lessons,  and  dispensing  with  his  ser 
vices  for  the  future. 

Of  course  this  was  the  result  of  the  visit  Nino  had 
so  rashly  made;  it  all  came  out  afterwards,  and  I 
will  not  now  go  through  the  details  which  De  Pretis 
poured  out,  when  we  only  half  knew  the  truth.  The 
count's  servant  who  admitted  Nino  had  pocketed  the 
five  francs  as  quietly  as  you  please,  and  the  moment 
the  count  returned  he  told  him  how  Nino  had  come 
and  had  stayed  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  just  as  if 
it  were  an  every-day  affair.  The  count,  being  a  proud 
old  man,  did  not  encourage  him  to  make  further  con 
fidences,  but  sent  him  about  his  business.  He  deter 
mined  to  make  a  prisoner  of  his  daughter  until  he 
could  remove  her  from  Rome.  He  accordingly  con- 


168  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

fined  her  in  her  own  little  suite  of  apartments,  and 
set  an  old  soldier,  whom  he  had  brought  from  Ger 
many  as  a  body-servant,  to  keep  watch  at  the  outer 
door.  He  did  not  condescend  to  explain  even  to 
Hedwig  the  cause  of  his  conduct,  and  she,  poor  girl, 
was  as  proud  as  he,  and  would  not  ask  why  she  was 
shut  up,  lest  the  answer  should  be  a  storm  of  abuse 
against  Nino.  She  cared  not  at  all  how  her  father 
had  found  out  her  secret,  since  he  knew  it,  and  she 
guessed  that  submission  would  be  the  best  policy. 

Meanwhile,  active  preparations  were  made  for  an 
immediate  departure.  The  count  informed  his  friends 
that  he  was  going  to  pass  Lent  in  Paris,  on  account 
of  his  daughter's  health,  which  was  very  poor,  and  in 
two  days  everything  was  ready.  They  would  leave 
on  the  following  morning.  In  the  evening  the  count 
entered  his  daughter's  apartments,  after  causing  him 
self  to  be  formally  announced  by  a  servant,  and 
briefly  informed  her  that  they  were  to  start  for  Paris 
on  the  following  morning.  Her  maid  had  been 
engaged  in  the  mean  time  in  packing  her  effects,  not 
knowing  whither  her  mistress  was  going.  Hedwig 
received  the  announcement  in  silence,  but  her  father 
saw  that  she  was  deadly  white  and  her  eyes  heavy 
from  weeping.  I  have  anticipated  this  much  to 
make  things  clearer.  It  was  on  the  first  morning  of 
Hedwig's  confinement  that  De  Pretis  came  to  our 
house. 

Nino  was  soon  waked  by  the  maestro's  noise,  and 
came  to  the  door  of  his  chamber,  which  opens  into 
the  little  sitting-room,  to  inquire  what  the  matter 
might  be.  Nino  asked  if  the  maestro  were  peddling 
cabbages,  that  he  should  scream  so  loudly. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  169 

"  Cabbages,  indeed  !  cabbage  yourself,  silly  boy ! " 
cried  Ercole,  shaking  his  fist  at  Nino's  head,  just 
visible  through  the  crack  of  the  door.  "  A  pretty 
mess  you  have  made,  with  your  ridiculous  love  affair ! 
Here  am  I "  — 

"  I  see  you  are,"  retorted  Nino ;  "  and  do  not  call 
any  affair  of  mine  ridiculous,  or  I  will  throw  you  out 
of  the  window.  Wait  a  moment ! "  With  that  he 
slammed  his  door  in  the  maestro's  face,  and  went  on 
with  his  dressing.  For  a  few  minutes  De  Pretis 
raved  at  his  ease,  venting  his  wrath  on  me.  Then 
Nino  came  out. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  he,  preparing  for  a  tussle,  "  what 
is  the  matter,  my  dear  maestro  ? "  But  Ercole  had 
expended  most  of  his  fury  already. 

"  The  matter  I "  he  grumbled.  "  The  matter  is  that 
I  have  lost  an  excellent  pupil  through  you.  Count 
Lira  says  he  does  not  require  my  services  any  longer, 
and  the  man  who  brought  the  note  says  they  are 
going  away." 

"  Diavolo ! "  said  Nino,  running  his  fingers  through 
his  curly  black  hair,  "it  is  indeed  serious.  Where 
are  they  going  ?  " 

"How  should  I  know?"  asked  De  Pretis  angrily. 
"  I  care  much  more  about  losing  the  lesson  than  about 
where  they  are  going.  I  shall  not  follow  them,  I 
promise  you.  I  cannot  take  the  basilica  of  St.  Peter 
about  with  me  in  my  pocket,  can  I  ?  " 

And  so  he  was  angry  at  first,  and  at  length  he 
was  pacified,  and  finally  he  advised  Nino  to  discover 
immediately  where  the  count  and  his  daughter  were 
going ;  and,  if  it  were  to  any  great  capital,  to  endeavour 


170  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

to  make  a  contract  to  sing  there.  Lent  came  early 
that  year,  and  Nino  was  free  at  the  end  of  Carnival, 
—  not  many  days  longer  to  wait.  This  was  the  plan 
that  had  instantly  formed  itself  in  Nino's  brain.  De 
Pretis  is  really  a  most  obliging  man,  but  one  cannot 
wonder  that  he  should  be  annoyed  at  the  result  of 
Nino's  four  months'  courtship  under  such  great  dif 
ficulties,  when  it  seemed  that  all  their  efforts  had  led 
only  to  the  sudden  departure  of  his  lady-love.  As 
for  me,  I  advised  Nino  to  let  the  whole  matter  drop 
then  and  there.  I  told  him  he  would  soon  get  over 
his  foolish  passion,  and  that  a  statue  like  Hedwig 
could  never  suffer  anything,  since  she  could  never 
feel.  But  he  glared  at  me,  and  did  as  he  liked,  just 
as  he  always  has  done. 

The  message  on  the  handkerchief  which  Nino  had 
received  the  night  before  warned  him  to  keep  away 
from  the  Palazzo  Carmandola.  Nino  reflected  that 
this  warning  was  probably  due  to  Hedwig's  anxiety 
for  his  personal  safety,  and  he  resolved  to  risk  any 
thing  rather  than  remain  in  ignorance  of  her  desti 
nation.  It  must  be  a  case  of  giving  some  signal. 
But  this  evening  he  had  to  sing  at  the  theatre,  and 
therefore,  without  more  ado,  he  left  us  and  went  to 
bed  again,  where  he  stayed  until  twelve  o'clock. 
Then  he  went  to  rehearsal,  arriving  an  hour  behind 
time,  at  least,  a  matter  which  he  treated  with  the 
coolest  indifference.  After  that  he  got  a  pound  of 
small  shot,  and  amused  himself  with  throwing  a  few 
at  a  time  at  the  kitchen  window  from  the  little  court 
at  the  back  of  our  house,  where  the  well  is.  It  seemed 
a  strangely  childish  amusement  for  a  great  singer. 


A   ROMAN    SINGER.  171 

Huving  sung  successfully  through  his  opera  that 
night,  ho  had  supper  with  us,  as  usual,  and  then 
went  out.  Of  course  he  told  me  afterwards  what 
he  did.  He  went  to  his  old  post  under  the  windows 
of  the  Palazzo  Carmandola,  and  as  soon  as  all  was 
dark  he  began  to  throw  small  shot  up  at  Hedwig's 
window.  He  now  profited  by  his  practice  in  the 
afternoon,  for  he  made  the  panes  rattle  with  the 
little  bits  of  lead,  several  times.  At  last  he  was 
rewarded.  Very  slowly  the  window  opened,  and 
Hedwig's  voice  spoke  in  a  low  tone :  — 

"Is  it  you?" 

"  Ah,  dear  one  I     Can  you  ask  ?  "  began  Nino. 

"Hush!  I  am  still  locked  up.  We  are  going 
away,  —  I  cannot  tell  where." 

"  When,  dearest  love  ?  " 

"I  cannot  tell.  What  shall  we  do?"  —  very  tear 
fully. 

"  I  will  follow  you  immediately  ;  only  let  me  know 
when  and  where." 

"  If  you  do  not  hear  by  some  other  means,  come 
here  to-morrow  night.  I  hear  steps.  Go  at  on-ce." 

"  Good-night,  dearest,"  he  murmured ;  but  the  win 
dow  was  already  closed,  and  the  fresh  breeze  that 
springs  up  after  one  o'clock  blew  from  the  air  the 
remembrance  of  the  loving  speech  that  had  passed 
upon  it, 

On  the  following  night  he  was  at  his  post,  and 
again  threw  the  shot  against  the  pane  for  a  signal. 
After  a  long  time  Hedwig  opened  the  window  very 
cautiously. 

"  Quick  I  "  she  whispered  down  to  him,  "  go  I  they 


172  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

are  all  awake,"  and  she  dropped  something  heavy  and 
white.  Perhaps  she  added  some  word,  but  Nino 
would  not  tell  me,  and  never  would  read  me  the  let- 
ter.  But  it  contained  the  news  that  Hedwig  and  her 
father  were  to  leave  Rome  for  Paris  on  the  following 
morning ;  and  ever  since  that  night  Nino  has  worn 
upon  his  little  finger  a  plain  gold  ring,  —  I  cannot 
tell  why,  and  he  says  he  found  it. 

The  next  day  he  ascertained  from  the  porter  of  the 
Palazzo  Carmandola  that  the  count  and  contessina, 
with  their  servants,  had  actually  left  Rome  that 
morning  for  Paris.  From  that  moment  he  was  sad 
as  death,  and  went  about  his  business  heavily,  being 
possessed  of  but  one  idea,  namely,  to  sign  an  engage 
ment  to  sing  in  Paris  as  soon  as  possible.  In  that 
wicked  city  the  opera  continues  through  Lent,  and 
after  some  haggling,  in  which  De  Pretis  insisted  on 
obtaining  for  Nino  the  most  advantageous  terms,  the 
contract  was  made  out  and  signed. 

I  see  very  well  that  unless  I  hurry  myself  I  shall 
never  reach  the  most  important  part  of  this  story, 
which  is,  after  all,  the  only  part  worth  telling.  I 
am  sure  I  do  not  know  how  I  can  ever  tell  it  so 
quickly,  but  I  will  do  my  best,  and  you  must  have 
a  little  patience ;  for  though  I  am  not  old,  I  am  not 
young,  and  Nino's  departure  for  Paris  was  a  great 
shock  to  me,  so  that  I  do  not  like  to  remember  it, 
and  the  very  thought  of  it  sickens  me.  If  you  have 
ever  had  any  education,  you  must  have  seen  an  ex 
periment  in  which  a  mouse  is  put  in  a  glass  jar,  and 
all  the  air  is  drawn  away  with  a  pump,  so  that  the 
poor  little  beast  languishes  and  rolls  pitifully  on  its 


A  KOMAN   SINGER.  173 

side,  gasping  and  wheezing  with  its  tiny  lungs  for 
the  least  whiff  of  air.  That  is  just  how  I  felt  when 
Nino  went  away.  It  seemed  as  though  I  could  not 
breathe  in  the  house  or  in  the  streets,  and  the  little 
rooms  at  home  were  so  quiet  that  one  might  hear  a 
pin  fall,  and  the  cat  purring  through  the  closed 
doors.  Nino  left  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  ten 
days  of  Carnival,  when  the  opera  closed,  so  that  it 
was  soon  Lent ;  and  everything  is  quieter  then. 

But  before  he  left  us  there  was  noise  enough  and 
bustle  of  preparation,  and  I  did  not  think  I  should 
miss  him;  for  he  always  was  making  music,  or 
walking  about,  or  doing  something  to  disturb  me, 
just  at  the  very  moment  when  I  was  most  busy  with 
my  books.  Mariuccia,  indeed,  would  ask  me  from 
time  to  time  what  I  should  do  when  Nino  was  gone, 
as  if  she  could  foretell  what  I  was  to  feel.  I  sup 
pose  she  knew  I  was  used  to  him,  after  fourteen 
years  of  it,  and  would  be  inclined  to  black  humours 
for  want  of  his  voice.  But  she  could  not  know  just 
what  Nino  is  to  me,  nor  how  I  look  on  him  as  my 
own  boy.  These  peasants  are  quick-witted  and 
foolish ;  they  guess  a  great  many  things  better 
than  I  could,  and  then  reason  on  them  like  idiots. 

Nino  himself  was  glad  to  go.  I  could  see  his  face 
grow  brighter  as  the  time  approached;  and  though 
he  appeared  to  be  more  successful  than  ever  in  his 
singing,  I  am  sure  that  he  cared  nothing  for  the  ap 
plause  he  got,  and  thought  only  of  singing  as  well 
as  he  could  for  the  love  of  it.  But  when  it  came 
to  the  parting,  we  were  left  alone. 

"  Messer  Cornelio,"  he  said,  looking  at  me  affec- 


174  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

tionately,  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  to-night, 
before  I  go  away." 

"  Speak,  then,  my  dear  boy,"  I  answered,  "  for 
no  one  hears  us." 

44  You  have  been  very  good  to  me.  A  father 
could  not  have  loved  me  better,  and  such  a  father  as 
I  had  could  not  have  done  a  thousandth  part  what 
you  have  done  for  me.  I  am  going  out  into  the 
world  for  a  time,  but  my  home  is  here,  —  or,  rather, 
where  my  home  is  will  always  be  yours.  You  have 
been  my  father,  and  I  will  be  your  son ;  and  it  is  time 
you  should  give  up  your  professorship.  No,  not  that 
you  are  at  all  old  ;  I  do  not  mean  that." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  I,  "  I  should  think  not." 

44  It  would  be  much  more  proper  if  you  retired 
into  an  elegant  leisure,  so  that  you  might  write  as 
many  books  as  you  desire,  without  wearing  yourself 
out  in  teaching  those  students  every  day.  Would  you 
not  like  to  go  back  to  Serveti  ?  " 

44  Serveti !  —  ah,  beautiful,  lost  Serveti,  with  its 
castle  and  good  vinelands  !  " 

44  You  shall  have  it  again  before  long,  my  father," 
he  said.  He  had  never  called  me  father  before,  the 
dear  boy  !  I  suppose  it  was  because  he  was  going 
away.  But  Serveti  again  I  The  thing  was  impos 
sible,  and  I  said  so. 

44  It  is  not  impossible,"  he  answered  placidly.  "  Suc 
cessful  singers  make  enough  money  in  a  year  to  buy 
Serveti.  A  year  is  soon  passed.  But  now  let  us  go 
to  the  station,  or  I  shall  not  be  in  time  for  the  train." 

44  God  bless  you,  Nino  mio,"  I  said,  as  I  saw  him 
off. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  175 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  saw  two  or  three  Ninos. 
But  the  train  rolled  away  and  took  them  all  from  me, 
—  the  ragged  little  child  who  first  came  to  me,  the 
strong-limbed,  dark-eyed  boy  with  his  scales  and 
trills  and  enthusiasm,  and  the  full-grown  man  with 
the  face  like  the  great  emperor,  mightily  triumphing 
in  his  art  and  daring  in  his  love,  They  were  all  gone 
in  a  moment,  and  I  was  left  alone  on  the  platform 
of  the  station,  a  very  sorrowful  and  weak  old  man. 
Well,  I  will  not  think  about  that  day. 

The  first  I  heard  of  Nino  was  by  a  letter  he 
wrote  from  Paris,  a  fortnight  after  he  had  left  me. 
It  was  characteristic  of  him,  being  full  of  eager  ques 
tions  about  home  and  De  Pretis  and  Mariuccia  and 
Rome.  Two  things  struck  me  in  his  writing.  In  the 
first  place,  he  made  no  mention  of  the  count  or  Hed- 
wig,  which  led  me  to  suppose  that  he  was  recovering 
from  his  passion,  as  boys  do  when  they  travel.  And 
secondly,  he  had  so  much  to  say  about  me  that  he 
forgot  all  about  his  engagement,  and  never  even  men 
tioned  the  theatre.  On  looking  carefully  through 
the  letter  again,  I  found  he  had  written  across  the 
top  the  words  "  Rehearsals  satisfactory."  That  was 
all. 

It  was  not  long  after  the  letter  came,  however,  that 
I  was  very  much  frightened  by  receiving  a  telegram, 
which  must  have  cost  several  francs  to  send  all  that 
distance.  By  this  he  told  me  that  he  had  no  clue  to 
the  whereabouts  of  the  Liras,  and  he  implored  me  to 
make  inquiries  and  discover  where  they  had  gone. 
He  added  that  he  had  appeared  in  Faust  successfully. 
Of  course  he  must  succeed.  If  a  singer  can  please 


176  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

the  Romans,  he  can  please  anybody.  But  it  seemed 
to  me  that  if  he  had  received  a  very  especially  flatter 
ing  reception  he  would  have  said  so.  I  went  to  see 
De  Pretis,  whom  I  found  at  home  over  his  dinner. 
We  put  our  heads  together  and  debated  how  we 
might  discover  the  Paris  address  of  the  Graf  von 
Lira.  In  a  great  city  like  that  it  was  no  wonder 
Nino  could  not  find  them ;  but  De  Pretis  hoped  that 
some  of  his  pupils  might  be  in  correspondence  with 
the  contessina,  and  would  be  willing  to  give  the  requi 
site  directions  for  reaching  her.  But  days  passed, 
and  a  letter  came  from  Nino  written  immediately 
after  sending  the  telegram,  and  still  we  had  accom 
plished  nothing.  The  letter  merely  amplified  the  tele 
graphic  message. 

"  It  is  of  no  use,"  I  said  to  De  Pretis.  "  And  be 
sides,  it  is  much  better  that  he  should  forget  all 
about  it." 

"  You  do  not  know  that  boy,"  said  the  maestro, 
taking  snuff.  He  was  quite  right,  as  it  turned  out. 

Suddenly  Nino  wrote  from  London.  He  had  made 
an  arrangement,  he  said,  by  which  he  was  allowed  to 
sing  there  for  three  nights  only.  The  two  managers 
had  settled  it  between  them,  being  friends.  He  wrote 
very  despondently,  saying  that  although  he  had  been 
far  more  fortunate  in  his  appearances  than  he  had 
expected,  he  was  in  despair  at  not  having  found  the 
contessina,  and  had  accepted  the  arrangement  which 
took  him  to  London  because  he  had  hopes  of  finding 
her  there.  On  the  day  which  brought  me  this  letter 
I  had  a  visitor.  Nino  had  been  gone  nearly  a  month. 
It  was  in  the  afternoon,  towards  sunset,  and  I  was 


A  ROMAN   SINGEK.  177 

sitting  in  the  old  green  arm-chair  watching  the  gold 
finch  in  his  cage,  and  thinking  sadly  of  the  poor  dear 
baroness,  and  of  my  boy,  and  of  many  things.  The 
bell  rang,  and  Mariuccia  brought  me  a  card  in  her 
thick  fingers,  which  were  black  from  peeling  potatoes, 
so  that  the  mark  of  her  thumb  came  off  on  the  white 
pasteboard.  The  name  on  the  card  was  "Baron 
Ahasuerus  Benoni,"  and  there  was  no  address.  I 
told  her  to  show  the  signore  into  the  sitting-room, 
and  he  was  not  long  in  coming.  I  immediately 
recognised  the  man  Nino  had  described,  with  his 
unearthly  freshness  of  complexion,  his  eagle  nose, 
and  his  snow-white  hair.  I  rose  to  greet  him. 

"  Signer  Grandi,"  he  said,  "  I  trust  you  will  pardon 
my  intrusion.  I  am  much  interested  in  your  boy, 
the  great  tenor." 

"  Sir,"  I  replied,  "  the  visit  of  a  gentleman  is  never 
an  intrusion.  Permit  me  to  offer  you  a  chair." 

He  sat  down,  and  crossed  one  thin  leg  over  the 
other.  He  was  dressed  in  the  height  of  the  fashion ; 
he  wore  patent-leather  shoes,  and  carried  a  light 
ebony  stick  with  a  silver  head.  His  hat  was  per 
fectly  new,  and  so  smoothly  brushed  that  it  reflected 
a  circular  image  of  the  objects  in  the  room.  But  he 
had  a  certain  dignity  that  saved  his  foppery  from 
seeming  ridiculous. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  answered.  "  Perhaps  you 
would  like  to  hear  some  news  of  Signor  Cardegna,  — 
your  boy,  for  he  is  nothing  else." 

"  Indeed,"  I  said,  "  I  should  be  very  glad.  Has  he 
written  to  you,  baron  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !     We  are  not  intimate  enough  for  that. 


178  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

But  I  ran  on  to  Paris  the  other  day,  and  heard  him 
three  or  four  times,  and  had  him  to  supper  at  Bignon's. 
He  is  a  great  genius,  your  boy,  and  has  won  all  hearts." 

"That  is  a  compliment  of  weight  from  so  distin 
guished  a  musician  as  yourself,"  I  answered ;  for,  as 
you  know,  Nino  had  told  me  all  about  his  playing. 
Indeed,  the  description  was  his,  which  is  the  reason 
why  it  is  so  enthusiastic. 

"  Yes,"  said  Benoni,  "  I  am  a  great  traveler,  and 
often  go  to  Paris  for  a  day  or  two.  1  know  every 
one  there.  Cardegna  had  a  perfect  ovation.  All  the 
women  sent  him  flowers,  and  all  the  men  asked  him 
to  dinner." 

"Pardon  my  curiosity,"  I  interrupted,  "but  as  you 
know  every  one  in  Paris,  could  you  inform  me 
whether  Count  von  Lira  and  his  daughter  are  there 
at  present  ?  He  is  a  retired  Prussian  officer." 

Benoni  stretched  out  one  of  his  long  arms  and  ran 
his  fingers  along  the  keys  of  the  piano  without  strik 
ing  them.  He  could  just  reach  so  far  from  where  he 
sat.  He  gave  no  sign  of  intelligence,  and  I  felt  sure 
that  Nino  had  not  questioned  him. 

"  I  know  them  very  well,"  he  said  presently.  "  but 
I  thought  they  were  here." 

"  No,  they  left  suddenly  for  Paris,  a  month  ago." 

"  I  can  very  easily  find  out  for  you,"  said  Benoni. 
his  bright  eyes  turning  on  me  with  a  searching  look. 
-k  I  can  find  out  from  Lira's  banker,  who  is  probably 
also  mine.  What  is  the  matter  with  that  young  man  ' 
He  is  as  sad  as  Don  Quixote." 

"Nino?  He  is  probably  in  love,"  I  said,  rather 
indiscreetly. 


A   ROMAN    SINGER.  179 

"In  lore?  Then  of  course  he  is  in  love  with 
Mademoiselle  de  Lira,  and  has  gone  to  Paris  to  find 
her,  and  cannot.  That  is  why  you  ask  me." 

1  was  so  much  astonished  at  the  quickness  of  his 
guess-work  that  I  stared,  open-mouthed. 

"  He  must  have  told  you  !  "  I  exclaimed  at  last. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  In  the  course  of  a  long  life 
I  have  learned  to  put  two  and  two  together.  That 
is  all.  He  is  in  love,  he  is  your  boy,  and  you  are 
looking  for  a  certain  young  lady.  It  is  as  clear  as 
day."  But  in  reality  he  had  guessed  the  secret  long 
since. 

"  Very  well,"  said  I  humbly,  but  doubting  him,  all 
the  same.  "  I  can  only  admire  your  perspicacity.  But 
I  should  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  would  find  out 
where  they  are,  those  good  people.  You  seem  to  be 
a  friend  of  my  boy's,  baron.  Help  him,  and  he  will 
be  grateful  to  you.  It  is  not  such  a  very  terrible 
thing  that  a  great  artist  should  love  a  noble's  daugh 
ter,  after  all,  though  I  used  to  think  so." 

Benoni  laughed,  that  strange  laugh  which  Nino 
had  described,  —  a  laugh  that  seemed  to  belong  to 
another  age. 

"  You  amuse  me  with  your  prejudices  about  no 
bility,"  he  said,  and  his  brown  eyes  flashed  and 
twinkled  again.  "  The  idea  of  talking  about  nobilitj 
in  this  age !  You  might  as  well  talk  of  the  domestic 
economy  of  the  Garden  of  Eden." 

"But  you  are  yourself  a  noble  —  a  baron,"  I  ob 
jected. 

"  Oh,  I  am  anything  you  please,"  said  Benoni. 
"  Some  idiot  made  a  baron  of  me,  the  other  day,  be 


180  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

cause  I  lent  him  money  and  he  could  not  pay  it. 
But  I  have  some  right  to  it,  after  all,  for  I  am  a  Jew. 
The  only  real  nobles  are  Welshmen  and  Jews.  You 
cannot  call  anything  so  ridiculously  recent  as  the 
European  upper  classes  a  nobility.  Now  I  go  straight 
back  to  the  creation  of  the  world,  like  all  my  country 
men.  The  Hibernians  get  a  factitious  reputation 
for  antiquity  by  saying  that  Eve  married  an  Irish 
man  after  Adam  died,  and  that  is  about  as  much 
claim  as  your  European  nobles  have  to  respectability. 
Bah !  I  know  their  beginnings,  —  very  small  indeed." 

"  You,  also,  seem  to  have  strong  prejudices  on  the 
subject,"  said  I,  not  wishing  to  contradict  a  guest  in 
my  house. 

"So  strong  that  it  amounts  to  having  no  preju 
dices  at  all.  Your  boy  wants  to  marry  a  noble 
damosel.  In  Heaven's  name,  let  him  do  it.  Let  us 
manage  it  amongst  us.  Love  is  a  grand  thing.  I 
have  loved  several  women  all  their  lives.  Do  not 
look  surprised.  I  am  a  very  old  man;  they  have 
all  died,  and  at  present  I  am  not  in  love  with  any 
body.  I  suppose  it  cannot  last  long,  however.  I 
loved  a  woman,  once  on  a  time  "  — 

Benoni  paused.  He  seemed  to  be  on  the  verge 
of  a  soliloquy,  and  his  strange,  bright  face,  which 
seemed  illuminated  always  with  a  deathless  vitality, 
became  dreamy  and  looked  older.  But  he  recollected 
himself,  and  rose  to  go.  His  eye  caught  sight  of  the 
guitar  that  hung  on  the  wall. 

"Ah,"  he  cried  suddenly,  "music  is  better  than 
love,  for  it  lasts ;  let  us  make  music." 

He  dropped  his  hat  and  stick  and  seized  the  instru- 


A  KOMAN  SINGER.  181 

ment.  In  an  instant  it  was  tuned,  and  he  began 
to  perform  the  most  extraordinary  feats  of  agility 
with  his  fingers  which  I  ever  beheld.  Some  of  it 
was  very  beautiful,  and  some  of  it  very  sad  and  wild, 
but  I  understood  Nino's  enthusiasm.  I  could  have 
listened  to  the  old  guitar  in  his  hands  for  hours 
together,  —  I,  who  care  little  for  music;  and  I 
watched  his  face.  He  stalked  about  the  room  with 
the  thing  in  his  hands,  in  a  sort  of  wild  frenzy  of 
execution.  His  features  grew  ashy  pale,  and  his 
smooth  white  hair  stood  out  wildly  from  his  head. 
He  looked,  then,  more  than  a  hundred  years  old,  and 
there  was  a  sadness  and  a  horror  about  him  that 
would  have  made  the  stones  cry  aloud  for  pity.  I 
could  not  believe  he  was  the  same  man.  At  last  he 
was  tired,  and  stopped. 

"  You  are  a  great  artist,  baron," .  I  said.  "  Your 
music  seems  to  affect  you  much." 

"Ah,  yes,  it  makes  me  feel  like  other  men,  for 
the  time,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Did  you  know 
that  Paganini  always  practised  on  the  guitar?  It 
is  true.  Well,  I  will  find  out  about  the  Liras  for 
you  in  a  day  or  two,  before  I  leave  Rome  again." 

I  thanked  him,  and  he  took  his  leave. 


182  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

BENONI  had  made  an  impression  on  me  which 
nothing  could  efface.  His  tall,  thin  figure  and  bright 
eyes  got  into  my  dreams  and  haunted  me,  so  that  I 
thought  my  nerves  were  affected.  For  several  days  I 
could  think  of  nothing  else,  and  at  last  had  myself 
bled,  and  took  some  cooling  barley  water,  and  gave 
up  eating  salad  at  night,  but  without  any  perceptible 
effect. 

Nino  wrote  often,  and  seemed  very  much  excited 
about  the  disappearance  of  the  contessina,  but  what 
could  I  do  ?  I  asked  every  one  I  knew,  and  nobody 
had  heard  of  them,  so  that  at  last  I  quite  gave  it 
over,  and  wrote  to  tell  him  so.  A  week  passed,  then 
a  fortnight,  and  I  had  heard  nothing  from  Benoni. 
Nino  wrote  again,  inclosing  a  letter  addressed  to  the 
Contessina  di  Lira,  which  he  implored  me  to  convey 
to  her,  if  I  loved  him.  He  said  he  was  certain  that 
she  had  never  left  Italy.  Some  instinct  seemed  to 
tell  him  so,  and  she  was  evidently  in  neither  London 
nor  Paris,  for  he  had  made  every  inquiry,  and  had 
even  been  to  the  police  about  it.  Two  days  after  this, 
Benoni  came.  He  looked  exactly  as  he  did  the  first 
time  I  saw  him. 

"  I  have  news,"  he  said  briefly,  and  sat  down  in  the 
arm-chair,  striking  the  dust  from  his  boot  with  his 
light  stick. 


A  KOMAX   SINGER.  183 

"News  of  the  Graf  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes.  I  have  found  out  something.  They  never 
left  Italy  at  all,  it  seems.  I  am  rather  mystified,  and 
I  hate  mystification.  The  old  man  is  a  fool ;  all  old 
men  are  fools,  excepting  myself.  Will  you  smoke? 
No  ?  Allow  me,  then.  It  is  a  modern  invention,  but 
a  very  good  one."  He  lit  a  cigarette.  "  I  wish  your 
Liras  were  in  Tophet,"  he  continued,  presently. 
"  How  can  people  have  the  bad  taste  to  hide  ?  It 
only  makes  ingenious  persons  the  more  determined 
to  find  them."  He  seemed  talkative,  and  as  I  was 
so  sad  and  lonely  I  encouraged  him  by  a  little  stimu 
lus  of  doubt.  I  wish  I  had  doubted  him  sooner,  and 
differently. 

"What  is  the  use?"  I  asked.  "We  shall  never 
find  them." 

" '  Never '  is  a  great  word,"  said  Benoni.  "  You 
do  not  know  what  it  means.  I  do.  But  as  for  find 
ing  them,  you  shall  see.  In  the  first  place,  I  have 
talked  with  their  banker.  He  says  the  count  gave 
the  strictest  orders  to  have  his  address  kept  a  secret. 
But,  being  one  of  my  people,  he  allowed  himself  to 
make  an  accidental  allusion  which  gave  me  a  clue  to 
what  I  wanted.  They  are  hidden  somewhere  in  the 
mountains." 

"Diavolo!  among  the  brigands,  they  will  not  be 
very  well  treated,"  said  I. 

"  The  old  man  will  be  careful.  He  will  keep  clear 
of  danger.  The  only  thing  is  to  find  them." 

"And  what  then?"  I  asked. 

"  That  depends  on  the  most  illustrious  Signor 
Cardegna,"  said  Benoni,  smiling.  "  He  only  asked 


184  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

you  to  find  them.  He  probably  did  not  anticipate 
that  I  would  help  you." 

It  did  not  appear  to  me  that  Benoni  had  helped 
me  much,  after  all.  You  might  as  well  look  for  a 
needle  in  a.  hay  stack  as  try  to  find  any  one  who  goes 
to  the  Italian  mountains.  The  baron  offered  no 
further  advice,  and  sat  calmly  smoking  and  look 
ing  at  me.  I  felt  uneasy,  opposite  him.  He  was  a 
mysterious  person,  and  I  thought  him  disguised.  It 
was  really  not  possible  that  with  his  youthful  man 
ner  his  hair  should  be  naturally  so  white,  or  that 
he  should  be  so  old  as  he  seemed.  I  asked  him  the 
question  we  always  find  it  interesting  to  ask  for 
eigners,  hoping  to  lead  him  into  conversation. 

"  How  do  you  like  our  Rome,  Baron  Benoni  ?  " 

"Rome?  I  loathe  and  detest  it,"  he  said,  with 
a  smile.  "There  is  only  one  place  in  the  whole 
world  that  I  hate  more." 

"  What  place  is  that  ?  "  I  asked,  remembering  that 
he  had  made  the  same  remark  to  Nino  before. 

"Jerusalem,"  he  answered,  and  the  smile  faded 
on  his  face.  I  thought  I  guessed  the  reason  of  his 
dislike  in  his  religious  views.  But  I  am  very  liberal 
about  those  things. 

"I  think  I  understand  you,"  I  said;  "you  are  a 
Hebrew,  and  the  prevailing  form  of  religion  is  dis 
agreeable  to  you." 

"No,  it  is  not  exactly  that, — and  yet,  perhaps  it 
is."  He  seemed  to  be  pondering  on  the  reason  of 
his  dislike. 

"  But  why  do  you  visit  these  places,  if  they  do  not 
please  you?" 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  185 

"I  come  here  because  I  have  so  many  agreeable 
acquaintances.  I  never  go  to  Jerusalem.  I  also 
come  here  from  time  to  time  to  take  a  bath.  The 
water  of  the  Trevi  has  a  peculiarly  rejuvenating 
effect  upon  me,  and  something  impels  me  to  bathe 
in  it." 

"Do  you  mean  in  the  fountain?  All  foreigners 
say  that  if  you  drink  the  water  by  moonlight  you 
will  return  to  Rome." 

"Foreigners  are  all  weak-minded  fools.  I  like 
that  word.  The  human  race  ought  to  be  called 
fools  generically,  as  distinguished  from  the  more 
intelligent  animals.  If  you  went  to  England,  you 
would  be  as  great  a  fool  as  any  Englishman  that 
comes  here  and  drinks  Trevi  water  by  moonlight. 
But  I  assure  you  I  do  nothing  so  vulgar  as  to  pat 
ronise  the  fountain,  any  more  than  I  would  patronise 
Mazzarino's  church,  hard  by.  I  go  to  the  source, 
the  spring,  the  well  where  it  rises." 

44  Ah,  I  know  the  place  well,"  I  said.  "  It  is  near 
to  Serveti." 

"  Serveti?  Is  not  that  in  the  vicinity  of  Horace's 
villa?" 

"  You  know  the  country  well,  I  see,"  said  I,  sadly. 

"I  know  most  things,"  answered  the  Jew,  with 
complacency.  "  You  would  find  it  hard  to  hit  upon 
anything  I  do  not  know.  Yes,  I  am  a  vain  man,  it 
is  true,  but  I  am  very  frank  and  open  about  it. 
Look  at  my  complexion.  Did  you  ever  see  any 
thing  like  it?  It  is  Trevi  water  that  does  it."  I 
thought  such  excessive  vanity  very  unbecoming  in 
a  man  of  his  years,  but  I  could  not  help  looking 


186  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

amused.  It  was  so  odd  to  hear  the  old  fellow  des 
canting  on  his  attractions.  He  actually  took  a 
small  mirror  from  his  pocket,  and  looked  at  himself 
in  most  evident  admiration. 

"  I  really  believe,"  he  said  at  length,  pocketing  the 
little  looking-glass,  "  that  a  woman  might  love  me 
still.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Doubtless,"  I  answered  politely,  although  I  was 
beginning  to  be  annoyed,  "  a  woman  might  love  you 
at  first  sight.  But  it  would  be  more  dignified  for 
you  not  to  love  her." 

"  Dignity ! "  He  laughed  long  and  loud,  a  cutting 
laugh,  like  the  breaking  of  glass.  "  There  is  another 
of  your  phrases.  Excuse  my  amusement,  Signor 
Grandi,  but  the  idea  of  dignity  always  makes  me 
smile."  He  called  that  thing  a  smile !  "  It  is  in 
everybody's  mouth,  —  the  dignity  of  the  state,  the 
dignity  of  the  king,  the  dignity  of  woman,  the  dig 
nity  of  father,  mother,  schoolmaster,  soldier.  Psh! 
an  apoplexy,  as  you  say,  on  all  the  dignities  you  can 
enumerate.  There  is  more  dignity  in  a  poor,  patient 
ass  toiling  along  a  rough  road  under  a  brutal  burden 
than  in  the  entire  human  race  put  together,  from 
Adam  to  myself.  I  never  see  a  poor  wretch  of  a 
general,  or  king,  or  any  such  animal,  adorned  in  his 
toggery  of  dignity,  without  laughing  at  him,  and  his 
dignity  again  leads  him  to  suppose  that  my  smile  is 
the  result  of  the  pleasurable  sensations  his  appearance 
excites  in  me.  Nature  has  dignity  at  times  ;  some 
animals  have  it;  but  man,  never.  What  man  mis 
takes  for  it  in  himself  is  his  vanity,  —  a  vanity  much 
more  pernicious  than  mine,  because  it  deceives  its 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  187 

possessor,  who  is  also  wholly  possessed  by  it,  and 
is  its  slave.  I  have  had  many  illusions  in  my  life, 
3ignor  Grandi." 

"  One  would  say,  baron,  that  you  had  parted  with 
them." 

"  Yes,  and  that  is  my  chief  vanity,  —  the  vanity  of 
vanities  which  I  prefer  to  all  the  others.  It  is  only 
a  man  of  no  imagination  who  has  no  vanity.  He 
cannot  imagine  himself  any  better  than  he  is.  A 
creative  genius  makes  for  his  own  person  a  4  self ' 
which  he  thinks  he  is,  or  desires  other  people  to  be 
lieve  him  to  be.  It  makes  little  difference  whether 
he  succeeds  or  not,  so  long  as  he  flatters  himself  he 
does.  He  complacently  takes  all  his  images  from  the 
other  animals,  or  from  natural  objects  and  phenomena, 
depicting  himself  bold  as  an  eagle,  brave  as  a  lion, 
strong  as  an  ox,  patient  as  an  ass,  vain  as  a  popinjay, 
talkative  as  a  parrot,  wily  as  a  serpent,  gentle  as  a 
dove,  cunning  as  a  fox,  surly  as  a  bear ;  his  glance  is 
lightning,  his  voice  thunder,  his  heart  stone,  his  hands 
are  iron,  his  conscience  a  hell,  his  sinews  of  steel,  and 
his  love  like  fire.  In  short,  he  is  like  anything  alive 
or  dead,  except  a  man,  saving  when  he  is  mad.  Then 
he  is  a  fool.  Only  man  can  be  a  fool.  It  distin 
guishes  him  from  the  higher  animals." 

I  cannot  describe  the  unutterable  scorn  that  blazed 
in  his  eyes  as  Benoni  poured  out  the  vials  of  his 
wrath  on  the  unlucky  human  race.  With  my  views, 
we  were  not  likely  to  agree  in  this  matter. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  I  asked.  "  What  right  can  you 
possibly  have  to  abuse  us  all  in  such  particularly 
strong  terms  ?  Do  you  ever  make  proselytes  to  your 
philosophy  ?  " 


188  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"  No,"  said  he,  answering  my  last  question,  and  re 
covering  his  serenity  with  that  strange  quickness  of 
transition  I  had  remarked  when  he  had  made  music 
during  his  previous  visit.  "  No,  they  all  die  before  I 
have  taught  them  anything." 

"  That  does  not  surprise  me,  baron,"  said  I.  He 
laughed  a  little. 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  would  surprise  you  even  less  if 
you  knew  me  better,"  he  replied.  "But  really,  I 
came  here  to  talk  about  Cardegna,  and  not  to  chatter 
about  that  contemptible  creature,  man,  who  is  not 
worth  a  moment's  notice,  I  assure  you.  I  believe  I 
can  find  these  people,  and  I  confess  it  would  amuse 
me  to  see  the  old  man's  face  when  we  walk  in  upon 
him.  I  must  be  absent  for  a  few  days  on  business  in 
Austria,  and  shall  return  immediately,  for  I  have  not 
taken  my  bath  yet,  of  which  I  spoke.  Now,  if  it  is 
agreeable  to  you,  I  would  propose  that  we  go  to  the 
hills,  on  my  return,  and  prosecute  our  search  together, 
writing  to  Nino  in  the  mean  time  to  come  here  as  soon 
as  he  has  finished  his  engagement  in  Paris.  If  he 
comes  quickly,  he  may  go  with  us  ;  if  not,  he  can  join 
us.  At  all  events,  we  can  have  a  very  enjoyable  tour 
among  the  natives,  who  are  charming  people,  quite 
like  animals,  as  you  ought  to  know." 

I  think  I  must  be  a  very  suspicious  person.  Cir 
cumstances  have  made  me  so,  and  perhaps  my  sus 
picions  are  very  generally  wrong.  It  may  be.  At 
all  events,  I  did  suspect  the  rich  and  dandified  old 
baron  of  desiring  to  have  a  laugh  by  putting  Nino 
into  some  absurd  situation.  He  had  such  strange 
views,  or,  at  least,  he  talked  so  oddly,  that  I  did  not 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  189 

believe  half  he  said.  It  is  not  possible  that  anybody 
should  seriously  hold  the  opinions  he  professed. 

When  he  was  gone  I  sat  alone,  pondering  on  the 
situation,  which  was  like  a  very  difficult  problem  in 
a  nightmare,  which  could  not  or  would  not  look  sensi 
ble,  do  what  I  would.  It  chanced  that  I  got  a  letter 
from  Nino  that  evening,  and  I  confess  I  was  reluctant 
to  open  it,  fearing  that  he  would  reproach  me  with 
not  having  taken  more  pains  to  help  him.  Before 
opening  the  envelope,  I  felt  as  though  I  should  like 
to  go  back  a  fortnight  and  put  forth  all  my  strength 
to  find  the  contessina,  and  gain  a  comforting  sense  of 
duty  performed.  If  I  had  only  done  my  best,  how 
easy  it  would  have  been  to  face  a  whole  sheet  of  com 
plaints  !  Meanwhile  the  letter  was  come,  and  I  had 
done  nothing  worth  mentioning.  I  looked  at  the 
back  of  it,  and  my  conscience  smote  me ;  but  it  had 
to  be  accomplished,  and  at  last  I  tore  the  cover  off 
and  read. 

Poor  Nino !  He  said  he  was  ill  with  anxiety,  and 
feared  it  would  injure  his  voice.  He  said  that  to 
break  his  engagement  and  come  back  to  Rome  would 
be  ruin  to  him.  He  must  face  it  out,  or  take  the  legal 
consequences  of  a  breach  of  contract,  which  are  over 
whelming  to  a  young  artist.  He  detailed  all  the 
efforts  he  had  made  to  find  Hedwig,  pursuing  every 
little  sign  and  clue  that  seemed  to  present  itself;  all 
to  no  purpose.  The  longer  he  thought  of  it,  the  more 
certain  he  was  that  Hedwig  was  not  in  Paris  or  Lon 
don.  She  might  be  anywhere  else  in  the  whole  world, 
but  she  was  certainly  not  in  either  of  those  cities. 
Of  that  he  was  convinced.  He  felt  like  a  man  who 


190  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

had  pursued  a  beautiful  image  to  the  foot  of  a  precipi 
tous  cliff ;  the  rock  had  opened  and  swallowed  up  his 
dream,  leaving  him  standing  alone  in  hopeless  despair; 
and  a  great  deal  more  poetic  nonsense  of  that  kind. 

I  do  not  believe  I  had  ever  realised  what  he  so 
truly  felt  for  Hedwig,  until  I  sat  at  my  table  with 
his  letter  before  me,  overcome  with  the  sense  of  my 
own  weakness  in  not  having  effectually  checked 
this  mad  passion  at  its  rise ;  or,  since  it  had  grown 
so  masterfully,  of  my  wretched  procrastination  in  not 
having  taken  my  staff  in  my  hand  and  gone  out  into 
the  world  to  find  the  woman  my  boy  loved  and  bring 
her  to  him.  By  this  time,  I  thought,  I  should  have  found 
her.  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  his  being  ill,  suffer 
ing,  heart-broken,  —  ruined,  if  he  lost  his  voice  by  an 
illness,  —  merely  because  I  had  not  had  the  strength 
to  do  the  best  thing  for  him.  Poor  Nino,  I  thought, 
you  shall  never  say  again  that  Cornelio  Grandi  has 
not  done  what  was  in  his  power  to  make  you  happy. 

"  That  baron !  an  apoplexy  on  him  !  has  deluded  me 
with  his  promises  of  help,"  I  said  to  myself.  "He 
has  no  more  intention  of  helping  me  or  Nino  than  he 
has  of  carrying  off  the  basilica  of  St.  Peter.  Courage, 
Cornelio !  thou  must  gird  up  thy  loins,  and  take  a 
little  money  in  thy  scrip,  and  find  Hedwig  von 
Lira." 

All  that  night  I  lay  awake,  trying  to  think  how 
I  might  accomplish  this  end;  wondering  to  which 
point  of  the  compass  I  should  turn,  and  above  all 
reflecting  that  I  must  make  great  sacrifices.  But  my 
boy  must  have  what  he  wanted,  since  he  was  consum 
ing  himself,  as  we  say,  in  longing  for  it.  It  seemed 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  191 

to  me  no  time  for  counting  the  cost,  when  every  day 
might  bring  upon  him  a  serious  illness.  If  he  could 
only  know  that  I  was  acting,  he  would  allow  his 
spirits  to  revive  and  take  courage. 

In  the  watches  of  the  night  I  thought  over  my 
resources,  which,  indeed,  were  meagre  enough;  for 
I  am  a  very  poor  man.  It  was  necessary  to  take  a 
great  deal  of  money,  for  once  away  from  Rome  no 
one  could  tell  when  I  might  return.  My  salary  as 
professor  is  paid  to  me  quarterly,  and  it  was  yet  some 
weeks  to  the  time  when  it  was  due.  I  had  only  a 
few  francs  remaining,  —  not  more  than  enough  to  pay 
my  rent  and  to  feed  Mariuccia  and  me.  I  had  paid 
at  Christmas  the  last  installment  due  on  my  vineyard 
out  of  Porta  Salara,  and  though  I  owed  no  man  any 
thing  I  had  no  money,  and  no  prospect  of  any  for 
some  time.  And  yet  I  could  not  leave  home  on  a 
long  journey  without  at  least  two  hundred  scudi  in  my 
pocket.  A  scudo  is  a  dollar,  and  a  dollar  has  five 
francs,  so  that  I  wanted  a  thousand  francs.  You  see, 
in  spite  of  the  baron's  hint  about  the  mountains,  I 
thought  I  might  have  to  travel  all  over  Italy  before  I 
satisfied  Nino. 

A  thousand  francs  is  a  great  deal  of  money, — it  is 
a  Peru,  as  we  say.  I  had  not  the  first  sou  toward  it. 
I  thought  a  long  time.  I  wondered  if  the  old  piano 
were  worth  anything ;  whether  anybody  would  give 
me  money  for  my  manuscripts,  the  results  of  patient 
years  of  labour  and  study ;  my  old  gold  scarf-pin,  my 
seal  ring,  and  even  my  silver  watch,  which  really 
keeps  very  good  time,  —  what  were  they  worth  ?  But 
it  would  not  be  much,  not  the  tenth  part  of  what  I 


192  A   KOMAN   SINGER. 

wanted.  I  was  in  despair,  and  I  tried  to  sleep.  Then 
a  thought  came  to  me. 

"I  am  a  donkey,"  I  said.  "There  is  the  vine 
yard  itself,  —  my  little  vineyard  beyond  Porta  Sa- 
lara.  It  is  mine,  and  is  worth  half  as  much  again 
as  I  need."  And  I  slept  quietly  till  morning. 

It  is  true,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  natural,  that  in  the 
daylight  my  resolution  looked  a  little  more  heroic  to 
me  than  it  did  in  the  quiet  night.  I  had  toiled  and 
scraped  a  great  deal  more  than  you  know  to  buy  that 
small  piece  of  land,  and  it  seemed  much  more  my 
own  than  all  Serveti  had  ever  been  in  my  better  days. 
Then  I  shut  myself  up  in  my  room  and  read  Nino's 
letter  over  again,  though  it  pained  me  very  much ; 
for  I  needed  courage.  And  when  I  had  read  it,  I 
took  some  papers  in  my  pocket,  and  put  on  my  hat 
and  my  old  cloak,  which  Nino  will  never  want  any 
more  now  for  his  midnight  serenades,  and  I  went  out 
to  sell  my  little  vineyard. 

"It  is  for  my  boy,"  I  said,  to  give  myself  some 
comfort. 

But  it  is  one  thing  to  want  to  buy,  and  it  is  quite 
another  thing  to  want  to  sell.  All  day  I  went  from 
one  man  to  another  with  my  papers,  —  all  the  agents 
who  deal  in  those  things;  but  they  only  said  they 
thought  it  might  be  sold  in  time  ;  it  would  take  many 
days,  and  perhaps  weeks. 

"  But  I  want  to  sell  it  to-day,"  I  explained. 

"  We  are  very  sorry,"  said  they,  with  a  shrug  of 
the  shoulders ;  and  they  showed  me  the  door. 

I  was  extremely  down-hearted,  and  though  I  could 
not  sell  my  piece  of  land  I  spent  three  sous  in  buying 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  193 

two  cigars  to  smoke,  and  I  walked  about  the  Piazza 
Colonna  in  the  sun ;  I  would  not  go  home  to  dinner 
until  I  had  decided  what  to  do.  There  was  only  one 
man  I  had  not  tried,  and  he  was  the  man  who  had 
sold  it  to  me.  Of  course  I  knew  people  who  do  this 
business,  for  I  had  had  enough  trouble  to  learn  their 
ways  when  I  had  to  sell  Serveti,  years  ago.  But  this 
one  man  I  had  not  tried  yet,  because  I  knew  that  he 
would  drive  a  cruel  bargain  with  me  when  he  saw  I 
wanted  the  money.  But  at  last  I  went  to  him,  and 
told  him  just  what  my  wishes  were. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  it  is  a  very  bad  time  for  selling 
land.  But  to  oblige  you,  because  you  are  a  customer, 
I  will  give  you  eight  hundred  francs  for  your  little 
place.  That  is  really  much  more  than  I  can  afford." 

"  Eight  hundred  francs  !  "  I  exclaimed  in  despair. 
"But  I  have  paid  you  nearly  twice  as  much  for  it  in 
the  last  three  years  !  What  do  you  take  me  for?  To 
sell  such  a  gem  of  a  vineyard  for  eight  hundred 
francs  !  If  you  offer  me  thirteen  hundred  I  will  dis 
cuss  the  matter  with  you." 

"  I  have  known  you  a  long  time,  Signor  Grandi, 
and  you  are  an  honest  man.  I  am  sure  you  do  not 
wish  to  deceive  me.  I  will  give  you  eight  hundred 
and  fifty." 

Deceive  him,  indeed  I  The  very  man  who  had 
received  fifteen  hundred  from  me  said  I  deceived 
him  when  I  asked  thirteen  hundred  for  the  same 
piece  of  land !  But  I  needed  it  very  much,  and  so, 
bargaining  and  wrangling,  I  got  one  thousand  and 
seventy-five  francs  in  bank-notes;  and  I  took  care 
they  should  all  be  good  ones,  too.  It  was  a  poor 


A    ROMAN    SINGER. 

price,  I  know,  but  I  coiild  do  no  better,  and  I  went 

homo  hap'ov.      Hut    I    dared   not  tell  Mariuoeia.     She 
is  only  my  servant,  to  be  sure,  but  she  would  have 

Then  I  wrote  to  the  authorities  at  the  university 
to  say  that  I  was  obliged  to  leave  Rome  suddenly, 
and  would  of  course  not  claim  my  salary  during  mv 
.."  >;:  ...  But  1  added  that  1  hoped  they  would  nor 
permanently  supplant  me.  If  they  did,  I  knew  I 
should  be  ruined.  Then  I  told  Mariuccia  that  I  was 
£0:::.:  away  for  some  days  to  the  country,  and  1  loft 
her  the  money  to  pay  the  rent,  and  her  wa^os.  and 
a  little  more,  so  that  she  might  be  provided  for  if  I 
were  detained  very  long.  I  went  out  again  and  tele 
graphed  to  Nino,  to  say  I  was  going  at  once  in  search 
of  the  Liras,  and  begging  him  to  come  home  as  soon 
as  he  should  have  finished  his  engagement. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Mariuccia  was  very  curious  to 
know  where  I  was  going,  and  asked  me  many  ques 
tions,  which  I  had  some  trouble  in  answering.  But 
at  last  it  was  night  again,  and  the  old  woman  went 
to  bed  and  left  me.  Then  I  went  on  tiptoe  to  the 
kitchen,  and  found  a  skein  of  thread  and  two  needles, 
and  set  to  work. 

I  knew  the  country  whither  I  was  going  very 
well,  and  it  was  necessary  to  hide  the  money  I  had 
^me  ingenious  way.  So  I  took  two  waistcoats, 
—  one  of  them  was  quite  good  still,  —  and  I  sewed 
them  together,  and  tacked  the  bank-notes  between 
them.  It  was  a  clumsy  piece  of  tailoring,  though 
it  took  me  so  many  hours  to  do  it.  But  I  had  put 
the  larger  waistcoat  outside,  very  cunningly,  so  that 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  195 

when  I  had  put  on  the  two,  you  could  not  see  that 
there  was  anything  beneath  the  outer  one.  I  think 
I  was  very  clever  to  do  this  without  a  woman  to 
help  me.  Then  I  looked  to  my  boots,  and  chose  my 
oldest  clothes, — and  you  may  guess,  from  what  you 
know  of  me,  how  old  they  were,  —  and  I  made  a 
little  bundle  that  I  could  carry  in  my  hand,  with  a 
change  of  linen,  and  the  like.  These  things  I  made 
ready  before  I  went  to  bed,  and  I  slept  with  the  two 
waistcoats  and  the  thousand  francs  under  my  pillow, 
though  I  suppose  nobody  would  have  chosen  that 
particular  night  for  robbing  me. 

All  these  preparations  had  occupied  me  so  much 
that  I  had  not  found  any  time  to  grieve  over  my 
poor  little  vineyard  which  I  had  sold ,  and  besides,  I 
was  thinking  all  the  while  of  Nino,  and  how  glad 
he  would  be  to  know  that  I  was  really  searching  for 
Hedwig.  But  when  I  thought  of  the  vines,  it  hurt 
me ;  and  I  think  it  is  only  long  after  the  deed  that 
it  seems  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive. 

But  at  last  I  slept,  as  tired  folk  will,  leaving  care 
to  the  morrow ;  and  when  I  awoke  it  was  daybreak, 
and  Mariuccia  was  clattering  angrily  with  the  tin 
coffee-pot  outside.  It  was  a  bright  morning,  and  the 
goldfinch  sang,  and  I  could  hear  him  scattering  the 
millet  seed  about  his  cage  while  I  dressed.  And 
then  the  parting  grew  very  near,  and  I  drank  my 
coffee  silently,  wondering  how  soon  it  would  be  over, 
and  wishing  that  the  old  woman  would  go  out  and 
let  me  leave  my  house  alone.  But  she  would  not, 
and  to  my  surprise  she  made  very  little  worry  or 
trouble,  making  a  great  show  of  being  busy.  When 


196  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

I  was  quite  ready,  she  insisted  on  putting  a  handful 
of  roasted  chestnuts  into  my  pocket,  and  she  said 
she  would  pray  for  me.  The  fact  is,  she  thought, 
foolish  old  creature  as  she  is,  that  I  was  old  and  in 
poor  health,  and  she  had  often  teased  me  to  go  into 
the  country  for  a  few  days,  so  that  she  was  not  ill 
pleased  that  I  should  seem  to  take  her  advice.  She 
stood  looking  after  me  as  I  trudged  along  the  street, 
with  my  bundle  and  my  good  stick  in  my  right  hand, 
and  a  lighted  cigar  in  my  left. 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  I  ought  first  to  try 
the  direction  hinted  at  by  the  baron,  since  I  had 
absolutely  no  other  clue  to  the  whereabouts  of  the 
Count  von  Lira  and  his  daughter.  I  therefore  got 
into  the  old  stage  that  still  runs  to  Palestrina  and 
the  neighbouring  towns,  for  it  is  almost  as  quick  as 
going  by  rail,  and  much  cheaper ;  and  half  an  hour 
later  we  rumbled  out  of  the  Porta  San  Lorenzo,  and  I 
had  entered  upon  the  strange  journey  to  find  Hedwig 
von  Lira,  concerning  which  frivolous  people  have 
laughed  so  unkindly.  And  you  may  call  me  a 
foolish  old  man  if  you  like.  I  did  it  for  my  boy. 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  19T 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

I  WENT  to  Palestrina  because  all  foreigners  go 
there,  and  are  to  be  heard  of  from  other  parts  of 
the  mountains  in  that  place.  It  was  a  long  and 
tiresome  journey;  the  jolting  stage-coach  shook  me 
very  much.  There  was  a  stout  woman  inside,  with 
a  baby  that  squealed;  there  was  a  very  dirty  old 
country  curate,  who  looked  as  though  he  had  not 
shaved  for  a  week,  nor  changed  his  collar  for  a 
month.  But  he  talked  intelligently,  though  he 
talked  too  much,  and  he  helped  to  pass  the  time 
until  I  was  weary  of  him.  We  jolted  along  over 
the  dusty  roads,  and  were  at  least  thankful  that  it 
was  not  yet  hot. 

In  the  evening  we  arrived  at  Palestrina,  and 
stopped  before  the  inn  in  the  market-place,  as  tired 
and  dusty  as  might  be.  The  woman  went  one  way, 
and  the  priest  the  other,  and  I  was  left  alone.  I 
soon  found  the  fat  old  host,  and  engaged  a  room 
for  the  night.  He  was  talkative  and  curious,  and 
sat  by  my  side  when  he  had  prepared  my  supper  in 
the  dingy  dining-room  down-stairs.  I  felt  quite  sure 
that  he  would  be  able  to  tell  me  what  I  wanted,  or 
at  least  to  give  me  a  hint  from  hearsay.  But  he 
at  once  began  to  talk  of  last  year,  and  how  much 
better  his  business  had  been  then  than  it  was  now, 
as  country  landlords  invariably  do. 


198  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

It  was  to  no  purpose  that  I  questioned  him  about 
the  people  who  had  passed  during  the  fortnight,  the 
month,  the  two  months,  back ;  it  was  clear  that  no 
one  of  the  importance  of  my  friends  had  been  heard 
of.  At  last  I  was  tired,  and  he  lit  a  wax  candle, 
which  he  would  carefully  charge  in  the  bill  after 
wards,  at  double  its  natural  price,  and  he  showed 
me  the  way  to  my  room.  It  was  a  very  decent  little 
room,  with  white  curtains  and  a  good  bed  and  a 
table,  —  everything  I  could  desire.  A  storm  had 
come  up  since  I  had  been  at  my  supper,  and  it 
seemed  a  comfortable  thing  to  go  to  bed,  although 
I  was  disappointed  at  having  got  no  news. 

But  when  I  had  blown  out  my  candle,  determin 
ing  to  expostulate  with  the  host  in  the  morning,  if 
he  attempted  to  make  me  pay  for  a  whole  one,  I 
lay  thinking  of  what  I  should  do ;  and  turning  on 
my  side,  I  observed  that  a  narrow  crack  of  the 
door  admitted  rays  of  light  into  the  darkness  of 
my  chamber.  Now  I  am  very  sensitive  to  draughts 
and  inclined  to  take  cold,  and  the  idea  that  there 
was  a  door  open  troubled  me,  so  that  at  last  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  get  up  and  close  it.  As  I  rose  to 
my  feet,  I  perceived  that  it  was  not  the  door  by 
which  I  had  entered;  and  so,  before  shutting  it,  I 
called  out,  supposing  there  might  be  some  one  in 
the  next  room. 

"  Excuse  me,"  I  said  loudly,  "  I  will  shut  this 
door."  But  there  was  no  reply. 

Curiosity  is  perhaps  a  vice,  but  it  is  a  natural  one. 
Instead  of  pulling  the  door  to  its  place,  I  pushed  it  a 
little,  knocking  with  my  knuckles  at  the  same  time. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  199 

But  as  no  one  answered,  I  pushed  it  further,  and  put 
in  my  head.  It  was  a  disagreeable  thing  I  saw. 

The  room  was  like  mine  in  every  way,  save  that  the 
bed  was  moved  to  the  middle  of  the  open  space,  and 
there  were  two  candles  on  two  tables.  On  the  bed 
lay  a  dead  man.  I  felt  what  we  call  a  brivido,  —  a 
shiver  like  an  ague. 

It  was  the  body  of  an  old  man,  with  a  face  like 
yellow  wax,  and  a  singularly  unpleasant  expression 
even  in  death.  His  emaciated  hands  were  crossed  on 
his  breast,  and  held  a  small  black  crucifix.  The 
candles,  one  at  the  head  and  one  at  the  foot,  stood  on 
little  tables.  I  entered  the  room  and  looked  long  at 
the  dead  old  man.  I  thought  it  strange  that  there 
should  be  no  one  to  watch  him,  but  I  am  not  afraid  of 
dead  men,  after  the  first  shudder  is  past.  It  was  a 
ghastly  sight  enough,  however,  and  the  candles  shed 
a  glaring,  yellowish  light  over  it  all. 

"  Poor  wretch,"  I  said  to  myself,  and  went  back  to 
my  room,  closing  the  door  carefully  behind  me. 

At  first  I  thought  of  rousing  the  host,  and  explain 
ing  to  him  my  objections  to  being  left  almost  in  the 
same  room  with  a  corpse.  But  I  reflected  that  it 
would  be  foolish  to  seem  afraid  of  it,  when  I  was  really 
not  at  all  timid,  and  so  I  went  to  bed,  and  slept  until 
dawn.  But  when  I  went  down-stairs  I  found  the  inn 
keeper,  and  gave  him  a  piece  of  my  mind. 

"  What  sort  of  an  inn  do  you  keep  ?  What  manners 
are  these  ?  "  I  cried  angrily.  "  What  diavolo  put 
into  your  pumpkin  head  to  give  me  a  sepulchre  for  a 
room?" 

He  seemed  much  disturbed  at  what  I  said,  and  broke 


200  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

out  into  a  thousand  apologies.  But  I  was  not  to  be 
so  easily  pacified. 

uDo  you  think,"  I  demanded,  "that  I  will  ever 
come  here  again,  or  advise  any  of  my  friends  to  come 
here  ?  It  is  insufferable.  I  will  write  to  the  police  " 
—  But  at  this  he  began  to  shed  tears  and  to  wring  his 
hands,  saying  it  was  not  his  fault. 

"  You  see,  signore,  it  was  my  wife  who  made  me 
arrange  it  so.  Oh !  these  women  —  the  devil  has 
made  them  all !  It  was  her  father  —  the  old  dead 
man  you  saw.  He  died  yesterday  morning,  —  may 
he  rest !  —  and  we  will  bury  him  to-day.  You  see 
every  one  knows  that  unless  a  dead  man  is  watched 
by  some  one  from  another  town  his  soul  will  not 
rest  in  peace.  My  wife's  father  was  a  jettatore ;  he 
had  the  evil  eye,  and  people  knew  it  for  miles  around, 
so  I  could  not  persuade  any  one  from  the  other  vil 
lages  to  sit  by  him  and  watch  his  body,  though  I  sent 
everywhere  all  day  yesterday.  At  last  that  wife  of 
mine  —  maledictions  on  her  folly!  —  said,  4  It  is  my 
father,  after  all,  and  his  soul  must  rest,  at  any  price. 
If  you  put  a  traveler  in  the  next  room,  and  leave  the 
door  open,  it  will  be  the  same  thing ;  and  so  he  shall 
be  in  peace.'  That  is  the  way  it  happened,  signore," 
he  continued,  after  wiping  away  his  tears ;  "  you  see 
I  could  not  help  it  at  all.  But  if  you  will  overlook  it, 
I  will  not  make  any  charges  for  your  stay.  My  wife 
shall  pay  me.  She  has  poultry  by  the  hundred.  I 
will  pay  myself  with  her  chickens." 

"  Very  good,"  said  I,  well  pleased  at  having  got  so 
cheap  a  lodging.  "  But  I  am  a  just  man,  and  I  will 
pay  for  what  I  have  eaten  and  drunk,  and  you  can 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  201 

take  the  night's  lodging  out  of  your  wife's  chickens, 
as  you  say."  So  we  were  both  satisfied.1 

The  storm  of  the  night  had  passed  away,  leaving 
everything  wet  and  the  air  cool  and  fresh.  I  wrapped 
my  cloak  about  me,  and  went  into  the  market-place, 
to  see  if  I  could  pick  up  any  news.  It  was  already 
late,  for  the  country,  and  there  were  few  people 
about.  Here  and  there,  in  the  streets,  a  wine-cart 
was  halting  on  its  way  to  Rome,  while  the  rough 
carter  went  through  the  usual  arrangement  of  ex 
changing  some  of  his  employer's  wine  for  food  for 
himself,  filling  up  the  barrel  with  good  pure  water, 
which  never  hurt  any  one.  I  wandered  about,  though 
I  could  not  expect  to  see  any  face  that  I  knew ;  it  is 
so  many  years  since  I  lived  at  Serveti,  that  even  were 
the  carters  from  my  old  place,  I  should  have  forgotten 
how  they  looked.  Suddenly,  at  the  corner  of  a  dirty 
street,  where  there  was  a  little  blue  and  white  shrine 
to  the  Madonna,  I  stumbled  against  a  burly  fellow 
with  a  grey  beard,  carrying  a  bit  of  salt  codfish  in 
one  hand  and  a  cake  of  corn  bread  in  the  other,  eat 
ing  as  he  went. 

"  Gigi !  "  I  cried  in  delight,  when  I  recognised  the 
old  carrettiere  who  used  to  bring  me  grapes  and  wine, 
and  still  does  when  the  fancy  takes  him. 

"  Dio  mio !  Signor  Conte  !  "  he  cried  with  his 
mouth  full,  and  holding  up  the  bread  and  fish  with 
his  two  hands,  in  astonishment.  When  he  recovered 
himself,  he  instantly  offered  to  share  his  meal  with 
me,  as  the  poorest  wretch  in  Italy  will  offer  his  crust 

1  This  incident  actually  occurred,  precisely  as  related.  —  F.  M.  C. 


202  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

to  the  greatest  prince,  out  of  politeness.  "  Vuol 
favorire  ?  "  he  asked,  smiling, 

I  thanked  him  and  declined,  as  you  may  imagine. 
Then  I  asked  him  how  he  came  to  be  in  Palestrina  ; 
and  he  told  me  that  he  was  often  there  in  the  winter, 
as  his  sister  had  married  a  vine-dresser  of  the  place, 
of  whom  he  bought  wine  occasionally.  Very  well-to- 
do  people,  he  explained  eagerly,  proud  of  his  pros 
perous  relations. 

We  clambered  along  together  through  the  rough 
street,  and  I  asked  him  the  news  from  Serveti  and 
from  that  part  of  the  country,  well  knowing  that  if 
he  had  heard  of  any  rich  foreigners  in  that  neighbour 
hood  he  would  at  once  tell  me  of  it.  But  I  had  not 
much  hope.  He  talked  about  the  prospects  of  the 
vines,  and  such  things,  for  some  time,  and  I  listened 
patiently. 

"  By  the  bye,"  he  ^aid  at  last,  "  there  is  a  gran 
signore  who  is  gone  to  live  in  Fillettino,  —  a  crazy 
man,  they  say,  with  a  beautiful  daughter,  but  really 
beautiful,  as  an  angel." 

I  was  so  much  surprised  that  I  made  a  loud  ex 
clamation. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Gigi. 

"  It  is  nothing.  Gigi,"  I  answered,  for  I  was  afraid 
lest  he  should  betray  my  secret,  if  I  let  him  guess  it. 
"It  is  nothing  1  struck  my  foot  against  a  stone. 
But  you  were  celling  about  a  foreigner  who  is  gone 
to  live  somewhere.  Fillettino?  Where  is  that?" 

"  Oh,  the  place  of  the  diavolo !  I  do  not  wonder 
you  do  not  know,  conte,  for  gentlemen  never  go 
there.  It  is  in  the  Abruzzi,  beyond  Trevi.  Did  you 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  203 

ever  hear  of  the  Serra  di  Sant'  Antonio,  where  so 
many  people  have  been  killed  ?  " 

"  Diana !     I  should  think  so  !     In  the  old  days  "  — 

"Bene,"  said  Gigi,  "Fillettino  is  there,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  pass." 

"Tell  me,  Gigi  mio,"  I  said,  "are  you  not  very 
thirsty?" 

The  way  to  the  heart  of  the  wine  carter  lies  through 
a  pint  measure.  Gigi  was  thirsty,  as  I  supposed,  and 
we  sat  down  in  the  porch  of  my  inn,  and  the  host 
brought  a  stoup  of  his  best  wine  and  set  it  before  us. 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  about  the  crazy  foreigner 
who  is  gone  to  live  in  the  hills  among  the  briganti," 
I  said,  when  he  had  wet  his  throat. 

"  What  I  know  I  will  tell  you,  Sign  or  Conte,"  he 
answered,  filling  his  pipe  with  bits  of  tobacco  he  broke 
off  a  cigar.  "  But  I  know  very  little.  He  must  be 
a  foreigner,  because  he  goes  to  such  a  place ;  and  he 
is  certainly  crazy,  for  he  shuts  his  daughter  in  the 
old  castle,  and  watches  her  as  though  she  were  made 
of  wax,  like  the  flowers  you  have  in  Rome  under 
glass." 

"How  long  have  they  been  there,  these  queer 
folks?  "I  asked. 

"  What  do  I  know  ?  It  may  be  a  month  or  two. 
A  man  told  me,  who  had  come  that  way  from  Fucino. 
and  that  is  all  I  know." 

"  Do  people  often  travel  that  way,  Gigi  ?  '* 

"Not  often,  indeed,"  he  answered,  with  a  grin. 
"  They  are  not  very  civil,  the  people  of  those  parts." 

Gigi  made  a  gesture,  or  a  series  of  gestures.  He 
put  up  his  hands  as  though  firing  a  gun.  Then  he 


204  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

opened  his  right  hand  and  closed  it,  with  a  kind  of 
insinuating  twirl  of  the  fingers,  which  means  "  to 
steal."  Lastly  he  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  and 
looked  through  his  fingers  as  though  they  were  bars, 
which  means  "prison."  From  this  I  inferred  that 
the  inhabitants  of  Fillettino  were  addicted  to  murder, 
robbery,  and  other  pastimes,  for  which  they  sometimes 
got  into  trouble.  The  place  he  spoke  of  is  about 
thirty  miles,  or  something  more,  from  Palestrina,  and 
I  began  planning  how  I  should  get  there  as  cheaply 
as  possible.  I  had  never  been  there,  and  wondered 
what  sort  of  a  habitation  the  count  had  found ;  for  I 
knew  it  must  be  the  roughest  of  mountain  towns,  with 
some  dilapidated  castle  or  other  overhanging  it.  But 
the  count  was  rich,  and  he  had  doubtless  made  him 
self  very  comfortable.  I  sat  in  silence,  while  Gigi 
finished  his  wine,  and  chatted  about  his  affairs  be 
tween  the  whiffs  of  his  pipe. 

"  Gigi,"  I  said  at  last,  "  I  want  to  buy  a  donkey." 

"  Eh,  your  excellency  can  be  accommodated ;  and 
a  saddle,  too,  if  you  wish." 

"  I  think  I  could  ride  without  a  saddle,"  I  said,  for 
I  thought  it  a  needless  piece  of  extravagance. 

"Madonna  mia!"  he  cried.  "The  Signor  Conte 
ride  bareback  on  a  donkey!  They  would  laugh  at 
you.  But  my  brother-in-law  can  sell  you  a  beast 
this  very  day,  and  for  a  mere  song." 

"  Let  us  go  and  vsee  the  beast,"  I  said. 

I  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  having  wished  to  ride 
without  a  saddle.  But  as  I  had  sold  all  I  had,  I 
wanted  to  make  the  money  last  as  long  as  possible ; 
or  at  least  I  would  spend  as  little  as  I  could,  and 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  205 

take  something  back,  if  I  ever  went  home  at  all. 
We  had  not  far  to  go,  and  Gigi  opened  a  door  in  the 
street  and  showed  me  a  stable,  in  which  something 
moved  in  the  darkness.  Presently  he  led  out  an 
animal  and  began  to  descant  upon  its  merits. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  more  beautiful  donkey?" 
asked  Gigi  admiringly.  "  He  looks  like  a  horse  !  " 
It  was  a  little  ass,  with  sad  eyes,  and  ears  as  long  as 
its  tail.  It  was  also  very  thin,  and  had  the  hair 
rubbed  off  its  back  from  carrying  burdens.  But  it 
had  no  sore  places,  and  did  not  seem  lame. 

"  He  is  full  of  fire,"  said  Gigi,  poking  the  donkey 
in  the  ribs  to  excite  a  show  of  animation.  "  You 
should  see  him  gallop  up  hill  with  my  brother  on 
his  back,  and  a  good  load  into  the  bargain.  Brrrr ! 
Stand  still,  will  you ! "  he  cried,  holding  tightly  by 
the  halter,  though  the  animal  did  not  seem  anxious 
to  run  away. 

"  And  then,"  said  Gigi,  "  he  eats  nothing,  —  posi 
tively  nothing." 

"  He  does  not  look  as  though  he  had  eaten  much 
of  late,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  my  brother-in-law  is  as  good  to  him  as  though 
he  were  a  Christian.  He  gives  him  corn  bread  and  fish, 
just  like  his  own  children.  But  this  ass  prefers  straw." 

"  A  frugal  ass,"  I  said,  and  we  began  to  bargain. 

I  will  not  tell  you  what  I  gave  Gigi's  brother-in- 
law  for  the  beast,  because  you  would  laugh.  And  I 
bought  an  old  saddle,  too.  It  was  really  necessary, 
but  it  was  a  dear  bargain,  though  it  was  cheaper  than 
hiring ;  for  I  sold  the  donkey  and  the  saddle  again, 
and  got  back  something. 


206  A   ROMAN    SINGER. 

It  is  a  wild  country  enough  behind  the  mountains 
towards  the  sources  of  the  Aniene, — the  river  that 
makes  the  falls  at  Tivoli.  You  could  not  half  under 
stand  how  in  these  times,  under  the  new  government, 
and  almost  within  a  long  day's  ride  from  Rome,  such 
things  could  take  place  as  I  am  about  to  tell  you  of, 
unless  I  explained  to  you  how  very  primitive  that 
country  is  which  lies  to  the  southeast  of  the  capital, 
and  which  we  generally  call  the  Abruzzi.  The  dis 
trict  is  wholly  mountainous,  and  though  there  are  no 
very  great  elevations  there  are  very  ragged  gorges 
and  steep  precipices,  and  now  and  then  an  inacces 
sible  bit  of  forest  far  up  among  the  rocks,  which  no 
man  has  ever  thought  of  cutting  down.  It  would  be 
quite  impossible  to  remove  the  timber.  The  people 
are  mostly  shepherds  in  the  higher  regions,  where 
there  are  no  vines,  and  when  opportunity  offers  they 
will  waylay  the  unwary  traveler  and  rob  him,  and 
even  murder  him,  without  thinking  very  much  about 
it.  In  the  old  days,  the  boundary  between  the  Papal 
States  and  the  kingdom  of  Naples  ran  through  these 
mountains,  and  the  contrabbandieri  —  the  smugglers 
of  all  sorts  of  wares  —  used  to  cross  from  one  do 
minion  to  the  other  by  circuitous  paths  and  steep 
ways  of  which  only  a  few  had  knowledge.  The 
better  known  of  these  passes  were  defended  by  sol 
diers  and  police,  but  there  have  been  bloody  fights 
fought,  within  a  few  years,  between  the  law  and  its 
breakers.  Foreigners  never  penetrate  into  the  re 
cesses  of  these  hills,  and  even  the  English  guide 
books,  which  are  said  to  contain  an  account  of 
everything  that  the  Buon  Dio  ever  made,  compiled 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  207 

from  notes  taken  at  the  time  of  the  creation,  make 
no  mention  of  places  which  surpass  in  beauty  all  the 
rest  of  Italy  put  together. 

No  railroad  or  other  modern  innovation  penetrates 
into  those  Arcadian  regions,  where  the  goatherd 
plays  upon  his  pipe  all  the  day  long,  the  picture  of 
peace  and  innocence,  or  prowls  in  the  passes  with  a 
murderous  long  gun,  if  there  are  foreigners  in  the 
air.  The  women  toil  at  carrying  their  scant  supply 
of  drinking-water  from  great  distances  during  a  part 
of  the  day,  and  in  the  evening  they  spin  industriously 
by  their  firesides  or  upon  their  doorsteps,  as  the  sea 
son  will  have  it.  It  is  an  old  life,  the  same  to-day  as 
a  thousand  years  ago,  and  perhaps  as  it  will  be  a 
thousand  years  hence.  The  men  are  great  travelers, 
and  go  to  Rome  in  the  winter  to  sell  their  cheese,  or 
to  milk  a  herd  of  goats  in  the  streets  at  daybreak, 
selling  the  foaming  canful  for  a  sou.  But  their  visits 
to  the  city  do  not  civilise  them ;  the  outing  only 
broadens  the  horizon  of  their  views  in  regard  to  for 
eigners,  and  makes  them  more  ambitious  to  secure 
one,  and  see  what  he  is  like,  and  cut  off  his  ears,  and 
get  his  money.  Do  not  suppose  that  the  shepherd  of 
the  Abruzzi  lies  all  day  on  the  rocks  in  the  sun,  wait 
ing  for  the  foreign  gentleman  to  come  within  reach. 
He  might  wait  a  long  time.  Climbing  has  strength 
ened  the  muscles  of  his  legs  into  so  much  steel,  and 
a  party  of  herdsmen  have  been  known  to  come  down 
from  the  Serra  to  the  plains  around  Velletri,  and  to 
return  to  their  inaccessible  mountains,  after  doing 
daring  deeds  of  violence,  in  twenty-four  hours  from 
the  time  of  starting  ;  covering  at  least  from  eighty  to 


208  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

ninety  miles  by  the  way.  They  are  extraordinary 
fellows,  as  active  as  tigers,  and  fabulously  strong, 
though  they  are  never  very  big. 

This  country  begins  behind  the  range  of  Sabine 
mountains  seen  from  Rome  across  the  Campagna,  and 
the  wild  character  of  it  increases  as  you  go  towards 
the  southeast. 

Since  I  have  told  you  this  much,  I  need  not  weary 
you  with  further  descriptions.  I  do  not  like  descrip 
tions,  and  it  is  only  when  Nino  gives  me  his  impres 
sions  that  I  write  them,  in  order  that  you  may  know 
how  beautiful  things  impress  him,  and  the  better 
judge  of  his  character. 

I  do  not  think  that  Gigi  really  cheated  me  so  very 
badly  about  the  donkey.  Of  course  I  do  not  believe 
the  story  of  his  carrying  the  brother-in-law  and  the 
heavy  load  uphill  at  a  gallop ;  but  I  am  thin  and 
not  very  heavy,  and  the  little  ass  carried  me  well 
enough  through  the  valleys,  and  when  we  came  to  a 
steep  place  I  would  get  off  and  walk,  so  as  not  to 
tire  him  too  much.  If  he  liked  to  crop  a  thistle  or  a 
blade  of  grass,  I  would  stop  a  moment,  for  I  thought 
he  would  grow  fatter  in  that  way,  and  I  should  not 
lose  so  much  when  I  sold  him  again.  But  he  never 
grew  very  fat. 

Twice  I  slept  by  the  way,  before  I  reached  the  end 
of  my  journey, —  once  at  Olevano,  and  once  at  Trevi ; 
for  the  road  from  Olevano  to  Trevi  is  long,  and  some 
parts  are  very  rough,  especially  at  first.  I  could 
tell  you  just  how  every  stone  on  the  road  looks  — 
Rojate,  the  narrow  pass  beyond,  and  then  the  long 
valley  with  the  vines ;  then  the  road  turns  away  and 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  209 

rises  as  you  go  along  the  plateau  of  Arcinazzo,  which 
is  hollow  beneath,  and  you  can  hear  the  echoes  as  you 
tread ;  then  at  the  end  of  that  the  desperate  old  inn, 
called  by  the  shepherds  the  Madre  dei  Briganti, — - 
the  mother  of  brigands,  —  smoke-blackened  within 
and  without,  standing  alone  on  the  desolate  heath ; 
further  on,  a  broad  bend  of  the  valley  to  the  left, 
and  you  see  Trevi  rising  before  you,  crowned  with 
an  ancient  castle,  and  overlooking  the  stream  that 
becomes  the  Aniene  afterwards ;  from  Trevi  through 
a  rising  valley  which  grows  narrower  at  every  step, 
and  finally  seems  to  end  abruptly,  as  indeed  it  does, 
in  a  dense  forest  far  up  the  pass.  And  just  below 
the  woods  lies  the  town  of  Fillettino,  where  the  road 
ends ;  for  there  is  a  road  which  leads  to  Tivoli,  but 
does  not  communicate  with  Olevano,  whence  I  had 
come. 

Of  course  I  had  made  an  occasional  inquiry  by  the 
way,  when  I  could  do  so  without  making  people  too 
curious.  When  any  one  asked  me  where  I  was  going, 
I  would  say  I  was  bound  for  Fucino,  to  buy  beans  for 
seed  at  the  wonderful  model  farm  Torlonia  has  made 
by  draining  the  old  lake.  And  then  I  would  ask 
about  the  road ;  and  sometimes  I  was  told  there  was 
a  strange  foreigner  at  Fillettino,  who  made  every 
body  wonder  about  him  by  his  peculiar  mode  of  life. 
Therefore,  when  I  at  last  saw  the  town,  I  was  quite 
sure  that  the  count  was  there,  and  I  got  off  my  little 
donkey,  and  let  him  drink  in  the  stream,  while  I  my 
self  drank  a  little  higher  up.  The  road  was  dusty, 
and  my  donkey  and  I  were  thirsty. 

I  thought  of  all  there  was  to  be  done,  as  I  sat  on 


210  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

the  stone  by  the  water,  and  the  beast  cropped  the 
wretched  grass ;  and  soon  I  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  I  did  not  know  in  the  least  what  I  should  do.  I 
had  unexpectedly  found  what  I  wanted,  very  soon, 
and  I  was  thankful  enough  to  have  been  so  lucky. 
But  I  had  not  the  first  conception  of  what  course  I 
was  to  pursue  when  once  I  had  made  sure  of  the 
count.  Besides,  it  was  barely  possible  that  it  was  not 
he,  after  all,  but  another  foreigner,  with  another 
daughter.  The  thought  frightened  me,  but  I  drove 
it  away.  If  it  were  really  old  Lira  who  had  chosen 
this  retreat  in  which  to  imprison  his  daughter  and 
himself,  I  asked  myself  whether  I  could  do  anything, 
save  send  word  to  Nino  as  soon  as  possible. 

I  felt  like  a  sort  of  Don  Quixote,  suddenly  chilled 
into  the  prosaic  requirements  of  common  sense.  Per 
haps  if  Hedwig  had  been  my  Dulcinea,  instead  of 
Nino's,  the  crazy  fit  would  have  lasted,  and  I  should 
have  attempted  to  scale  the  castle  wall  and  carry  off 
the  prize  by  force.  There  is  no  telling  what  a  sober 
old  professor  of  philosophy  may  not  do,  when  he 
is  crazy.  But  meanwhile  I  was  sane.  Graf  von  Lira 
had  a  right  to  live  anywhere  he  pleased  with  his 
daughter,  and  the  fact  that  I  had  discovered  the  spot 
where  he  pleased  to  live  did  not  constitute  an  intro 
duction.  Or  finally,  if  I  got  access  to  the  old  count, 
what  had  I  to  say  to  him  ?  Ought  I  to  make  a  for 
mal  request  for  Nino  ?  I  looked  at  my  old  clothes, 
and  almost  smiled. 

But  the  weather  was  cold,  though  the  roads  were 
dusty ;  so  I  mounted  my  ass  and  jogged  along,  med 
itating  deeply. 


A   KOMAN   SINGER. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

FILLETTINO  is  a  trifle  cleaner  than  most  towns  of 
the  same  kind.  Perhaps  it  rains  more  often,  and 
there  are  fewer  people.  Considering  that  its  vicinity 
has  been  the  scene  of  robbery,  murder,  and  all  man 
ner  of  adventurous  crime  from  time  immemorial,  I 
had  expected  to  find  it  a  villainous  place.  It  is 
nothing  of  the  kind.  There  is  a  decent  air  about  it; 
and  though  the  houses  are  old  and  brown  and  poor, 
I  did  not  see  pigs  in  many  rooms,  nor  did  the  little 
children  beg  of  me,  as  they  beg  of  every  one  else 
where.  The  absence  of  the  pigs  struck  me  particu 
larly,  for  in  the  Sabine  towns  they  live  in  common 
with  the  family,  and  go  out  only  in  the  daytime  to 
pick  up  what  they  can  get. 

I  went  to  the  apothecary  —  there  is  always  an 
apothecary  in  these  places  —  and  inquired  for  a  lodg 
ing.  Before  very  long  I  had  secured  a  room,  and  it 
seemed  that  the  people  were  accustomed  to  travel 
ers,  for  it  was  surprisingly  clean.  The  bed  was  so 
high  that  I  could  touch  the  ceiling  when  I  sat  on  it, 
and  the  walls  were  covered  with  ornaments,  such  as 
glazed  earthenware  saints,  each  with  a  little  basin 
for  holy  water,  some  old  engravings  of  other  saints, 
a  few  paper  roses  from  the  last  fair,  and  a  weather- 
beaten  game-pouch  of  leather.  The  window  looked 


212  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

out  over  a  sort  of  square,  where  a  great  quantity  of 
water  ran  into  a  row  of  masonry  tanks  out  of  a  num 
ber  of  iron  pipes  projecting  from  an  overhanging  rock. 
Above  the  rock  was  the  castle,  the  place  I  had  come 
to  see,  towering  up  against  the  darkening  sky. 

It  is  such  a  strange  place  that  I  ought  to  describe 
it  to  you,  or  you  will  not  understand  the  things  that 
happened  there.  There  is  a  great  rock,  as  I  said, 
rising  above  the  town,  and  upon  this  is  built  the 
feudal  stronghold,  so  that  the  walls  of  the  building 
begin  not  less  than  forty  feet  from  the  street  level. 
The  height  of  the  whole  castle  consequently  seems 
enormous.  The  walls,  for  the  most  part,  follow  the 
lines  of  the  grey  rock,  irregularly,  as  chance  would 
have  it,  and  the  result  is  a  three-cornered  pile,  hav 
ing  a  high  square  tower  at  one  angle,  where  also  the 
building  recedes  some  yards  from  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  leaving  on  that  side  a  broad  terrace  guarded  by 
a  stone  parapet.  On  another  side  of  the  great  iso 
lated  bowlder  a  narrow  roadway  heads  up  a  steep 
incline,  impracticable  for  carriages,  but  passable  for 
four-footed  beasts ;  and  this  path  gives  access  to  the 
castle  through  a  heavy  gate  opening  upon  a  small 
court  within.  But  the  rock  itself  has  been  turned 
to  account,  and  there  are  chambers  within  it,  which 
formerly  served  as  prisons,  opening  to  the  right  and 
left  of  a  narrow  staircase,  hewn  out  of  the  stone,  and 
leading  from  the  foot  of  the  tower  to  the  street  below, 
upon  which  it  opens  through  a  low  square  door,  set 
in  the  rock  and  studded  with  heavy  iron  nails. 

Below  the  castle  hangs  the  town,  and  behind  it 
rises  the  valley,  thickly  wooded  with  giant  beech- 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  218 

trees.  Of  course  I  learned  the  details  of  the  interior 
little  by  little,  and  I  gathered  also  some  interesting 
facts  regarding  the  history  of  Fillettino,  which  are 
not  in  any  way  necessary  to  my  story.  The  first 
thing  I  did  was  to  find  out  what  means  of  communi 
cation  there  were  with  Rome.  There  was  a  postal 
service  twice  a  week,  and  I  was  told  that  Count  von 
Lira,  whose  name  was  no  secret  in  the  village,  sent 
messengers  very  often  to  Subiaco.  The  post  left 
that  very  day,  and  I  wrote  to  Nino  to  tell  him 
that  I  had  found  his  friends  in  villeggiatura  at  Fil- 
lettiiio,  advising  him  to  come  as  soon  as  he  could, 
and  recruit  his  health  and  his  spirits. 

I  learned,  farther,  from  the  woman  who  rented  me 
my  lodging,  that  there  were  other  people  in  the  castle 
besides  the  count  and  his  daughter.  At  least,  she 
had  seen  a  tall  gentleman  with  them  on  the  terrace 
during  the  last  two  days ;  and  it  was  not  true  that 
the  count  kept  Hedwig  a  prisoner.  On  the  contrary, 
they  rode  out  together  almost  every  day,  and  yester 
day  the  tall  gentleman  had  gone  with  them.  The 
woman  also  went  into  many  details,  and  told  me  how 
much  money  the  count  had  spent  in  a  fortnight, 
bringing  furniture  and  a  real  piano  and  immense 
loads  of  baskets,  which  the  porters  were  told  contained 
glass  and  crockery,  and  must  be  carefully  handled. 
It  was  clear  that  the  count  was  settled  for  some  time. 
He  had  probably  taken  the  old  place  for  a  year,  by 
a  lease  from  the  Roman  family  to  whom  Fillettino 
and  the  neighbouring  estates  belong.  He  would 
spend  the  spring  and  the  summer  there,  at  least. 

Being  anxious  to  see  who  the  tall  gentleman  of 


214  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

whom  my  landlady  had  spoken  might  be,  I  posted 
myself  in  the  street,  at  the  foot  of  the  inclined  bridle 
path  leading  to  the  castle  gate.  I  walked  up  and 
down  for  two  hours,  about  the  time  I  supposed  they 
would  all  ride,  hoping  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
party.  Neither  the  count  nor  his  daughter  knew  me 
by  sight,  I  was  sure,  and  I  felt  quite  safe.  It  was  a 
long  time  to  wait,  but  at  last  they  appeared,  and  I 
confess  that  I  nearly  fell  down  against  the  wall  when 
I  saw  them. 

There  they  were  on  their  horses,  moving  cautiously 
down  the  narrow  way  above  me.  First  came  the 
count,  sitting  in  his  saddle  as  though  he  were  at  the 
head  of  his  old  regiment,  his  great  grey  moustaches 
standing  out  fiercely  from  his  severe,  wooden  face. 
Then  came  Hedwig,  whom  I  had  not  seen  for  a  long 
time,  looking  as  white  and  sorrowful  as  the  angel  of 
death,  in  a  close  black  dress,  or  habit,  so  that  her 
golden  hair  was  all  the  colour  there  was  to  be  seen 
about  her. 

But  the  third  rider,  —  there  was  no  mistaking  that 
thin,  erect  figure,  dressed  in  the  affectation  of  youth 
—  those  fresh  pink  cheeks,  with  the  snowy  moustache 
and  the  thick  white  hair  showing  beneath  the  jaunty 
hat  —  the  eagle  nose  and  the  bright  eyes.  Baron 
Benoni,  and  no  other. 

My  first  instinct  was  to  hide  myself;  but  before  I 
could  retreat,  Benoni  recognised  me,  even  with  my 
old  clothes.  Perhaps  they  are  not  so  much  older 
than  the  others,  compared  with  his  fashionable  gar 
ments.  He  made  no  sign  as  the  three  rode  by;  only 
I  could  see  by  his  eyes,  which  were  fixed  angrily 


A   KOMAN   SINGER.  215 

upon  me,  that  he  knew  me,  and  did  not  wish  to  show 
it.  As  for  myself,  I  stood  stock  still  in  amazement. 

I  had  supposed  that  Benoni  had  really  gone  to 
Austria,  as  he  had  told  me  he  was  about  to  do.  I 
had  thought  him  ignorant  of  the  count's  retreat,  save 
for  the  hint  which  had  so  luckily  led  me  straight  to 
the  mark.  I  had  imagined  him  to  be  but  a  chance 
acquaintance  of  the  Lira  family,  having  little  or  no 
personal  interest  in  their  doings.  Nevertheless,  I 
had  suspected  him,  as  I  have  told  you.  Everything 
pointed  to  a  deception  on  his  part.  He  had  evi 
dently  gone  immediately  from  Rome  to  Fillettino. 
He  must  be  intimate  with  the  count,  or  the  latter 
would  not  have  invited  him  to  share  a  retreat  seem 
ingly  intended  to  be  kept  a  secret.  He  also,  I 
thought,  must  have  some  very  strong  reason  for  con 
senting  to  bury  himself  in  the  mountains  in  company 
with  a  father  and  daughter  who  could  hardly  be  sup 
posed  to  be  on  good  terms  with  each  other. 

But  again,  why  had  he  seemed  so  ready  to  help  me 
and  to  forward  Nino's  suit?  Why  had  he  given  me 
the  smallest  clue  to  the  count's  whereabouts?  Now 
I  am  not  a  strong  man  in  action,  perhaps,  but  I  am  a 
very  cunning  reasoner.  I  remembered  the  man,  and 
the  outrageous  opinions  he  had  expressed,  both  to 
Nino  and  to  me.  Then  I  understood  my  suspicions. 
It  would  be  folly  to  expect  such  a  man  to  have  any 
real  sympathy  or  sense  of  friendship  for  any  one.  He 
had  amused  himself  by  promising  to  come  back  and 
go  with  me  on  my  search,  perhaps  to  make  a  laugh 
ing-stock  of  me,  or  even  of  my  boy,  by  telling  the 
story  to  the  Liras  afterwards.  He  had  entertained 


216  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

no  idea  that  I  Would  go  alone,  or  that,  if  I  went,  I 
could  be  successful.  He  had  made  a  mistake,  ana 
was  very  angry;  his  eyes  told  me  that.  Then  I 
made  a  bold  resolution.  I  would  see  him  and  ask 
him  what  he  intended  to  do;  in  short,  why  he  had 
deceived  me. 

There  would  probably  be  no  difficulty  in  the  way 
of  obtaining  an  interview.  I  was  not  known  to  the 
others  of  the  party,  and  Benoni  would  scarcely  refuse 
to  receive  me.  I  thought  he  would  excuse  himself, 
with  ready  cynicism,  and  pretend  to  continue  his  offers 
of  friendship  and  assistance.  I  confess,  I  regretted 
that  I  was  so  humbly  clad,  in  all  my  old  clothes ;  but, 
after  all,  I  was  traveling,  you  know. 

It  was  a  bold  resolution,  I  think,  and  I  revolved 
the  situation  in  my  mind  during  two  days,  thinking 
over  what  I  should  say.  But  with  all  my  thought  I 
only  found  that  everything  must  depend  on  Benoni 's 
answer  to  my  own  question  —  "  Why  ?  " 

On  the  third  day,  I  made  myself  look  as  fine  as  I 
could,  and  though  my  heart  beat  loudly  as  I  mounted 
the  bridle-path,  I  put  on  a  bold  look  and  rang  the 
bell.  It  was  a  clanging  thing,  that  seemed  to  creak 
on  a  hinge,  as  I  pulled  the  stout  string  from  outside. 
A  man  appeared,  and  on  my  inquiry  said  I  might 
wait  in  the  porch  behind  the  great  wooden  gate, 
while  he  delivered  my  message  to  his  excellency  the 
baron.  It  seemed  to  take  a  long  time,  and  I  sat  on 
a  stone  bench,  eyeing  the  court-yard  curiously  from 
beneath  the  archway.  It  was  sunny  and  clean, 
with  an  old  well  in  the  middle,  but  I  could  see 
nothing  save  a  few  windows  opening  upon  it.  At 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  217 

last  the  man  returned  and  said  that  I  might  come 
with  him. 

I  found  Benoni,  clad  in  a  gorgeous  dressing- 
gown,  stalking  up  and  down  a  large  vaulted  apart 
ment,  in  which  there  were  a  few  new  armchairs,  a  table 
covered  with  books,  and  a  quantity  of  ancient  furni 
ture,  which  looked  unsteady  and  fragile,  although  it 
had  been  carefully  dusted.  A  plain  green  baize  car 
pet  covered  about  half  the  floor,  and  the  remainder 
was  of  red  brick.  The  morning  sun  streamed  in 
through  tall  windows,  and  played  in  a  rainbow- 
effulgence  on  the  baron's  many-coloured  dressing- 
gown,  as  he  paused  in  his  walk  to  greet  me. 

"Well,  my  friend,"  said  Benoni  gayly,  "how  in 
the  name  of  the  devil  did  you  get  here  ?  "  I  thought 
I  had  been  right;  he  was  going  to  play  at  being  my 
friend  again. 

"Very  easily,  by  the  help  of  your  little  hint,"  I 
replied;  and  I  seated  myself,  for  I  felt  that  I  was 
master  of  the  situation. 

"Ah,  if  I  had  suspected  you  of  being  so  intelli 
gent,  I  would  not  have  given  you  any  hint  at  all. 
You  see  I  have  not  been  to  Austria  on  business, 
but  am  here  in  this  good  old  flesh  of  mine,  such 
as  it  is." 

"  Consequently  "  —  I  began,  and  then  stopped.  I 
suddenly  felt  that  Benoni  had  turned  the  tables  upon 
me,  I  could  not  tell  how. 

"Consequently,"  said  he,  continuing  my  sentence, 
"  when  I  told  you  that  I  was  going  to  Austria  I  was 

lying." 

"The  frankness  of  the  statement  obliges  me  to 


218  A    ROMAN    SINGER. 

believe  that  you  are  now  telling  the  truth,"  1  an 
swered  angrily.  I  felt  uneasy.  Benoni  laughed  in 
his  peculiar  way. 

"Precisely,"  he  continued  again,  "I  was  lying. 
I  generally  do,  for  so  long  as  I  am  believed  I  deceive 
people;  and  when  they  find  me  out,  they  are  con 
fused  between  truth  and  lying,  so  that  they  do  not 
know  what  to  believe  at  all.  By  the  bye,  I  am  wan 
dering.  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  here.  I  hope  you 
understand  that." 

He  looked  at  me  with  the  most  cheerful  expres 
sion.  I  believe  I  was  beginning  to  be  angry  at  his 
insulting  calmness.  I  did  not  answer  him. 

"Signor  Grandi,"  he  said  in  a  moment,  seeing 
that  I  was  silent,  "I  am  enchanted  to  see  you,  if 
you  prefer  that  I  should  be.  But  may  I  inquire 
whether  I  can  do  anything  more  for  you,  now  that 
you  have  heard  from  my  own  lips  that  I  am  a  liar  ? 
I  say  it  again,  —  I  like  the  word,  —  I  am  a  liar,  and 
I  wish  I  were  a  better  one.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"Tell  me  why  you  have  acted  this  comedy,"  said 
I,  recollecting  at  the  right  moment  the  gist  of  my 
reflections  during  the  past  two  days. 

"Why?  To  please  myself,  good  sir;  for  the  sov 
ereign  pleasure  of  myself." 

"I  should  surmise,"  I  retorted,  "that  it  could  not 
have  been  for  the  pleasure  of  any  one  else." 

"  Perhaps  you  mean,  because  no  one  else  could  be 
base  enough  to  take  pleasure  in  what  amuses  me  ? " 
I  nodded  savagely  at  his  question.  "Very  good. 
Knowing  this  of  me,  do  you  further  surmise  that  I 
should  be  so  simple  as  to  tell  you  how  I  propose  to 
amuse  myself  in  the  future  ?  " 


A    ROMAN   SINGER.  219 

I  recognised  the  truth  of  this,  and  I  saw  myself 
checkmated  at  the  outset.  I  therefore  smiled  and 
endeavoured  to  seem  completely  satisfied,  hoping 
that  his  vanity  would  betray  him  into  some  hint  of 
the  future.  He  seemed  to  have  taken  pleasure  in 
misleading  me  with  a  fragment  of  truth,  supposing 
that  I  could  not  make  use  of  it.  I  would  endeavour 
to  lead  him  into  such  a  trap  again. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  country,  is  it  not ;  '  i  remarked, 
going  to  the  window  before  which  he  stood,  and  look 
ing  out.  "  You  must  enjoy  it  greatly,  after  the  tur 
moil  of  society." 

You  see,  I  was  once  as  gay  as  any  of  them,  in  the 
old  days ;  and  so  I  made  the  reflection  which  seemed 
natural  to  his  case,  wondering  how  he  would  answer. 

"It  is  indeed  a  very  passable  landscape,"  he  said 
indifferently.  "With  horses  and  a  charming  com 
panion  one  may  kill  a  little  time  here,  and  find  a 
satisfaction  in  killing  it." 

I  noticed  the  slip,  by  which  he  spoke  of  a  single 
companion  instead  of  two. 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "the  count  is  said  to  be  a  most 
agreeable  man." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  the  hesitation  seemed 
to  show  that  the  count  was  not  the  companion  he  had 
in  his  mind. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  he  said,  at  length,  "the  count  is 
very  agreeable,  and  his  daughter  is  the  paragon  of 
all  the  virtues  and  accomplishments." 

There  was  something  a  little  disparaging  in  his 
tone  as  he  made  the  last  remark,  which  seemed  to 
me  a  clumsy  device  to  throw  me  off  the  scent,  if 


220  A  EOMAN   SINGER. 

scent  there  were.  Considering  his  surpassing  per 
sonal  vanity,  of  which  I  had  received  an  ocular 
demonstration  when  he  visited  me  in  Rome,  I  fancied 
that  if  there  were  nothing  more  serious  in  his  thoughts 
he  would  have  given  me  to  understand  that  Hedwig 
found  him  entirely  irresistible.  Since  he  was  able 
to  control  his  vanity,  there  must  be  a  reason  for  it. 

"  I  should  think  that  the  contessina  must  be 
charmed  at  having  so  brilliant  a  companion  as  your 
self  in  her  solitude,"  I  said,  feeling  my  way  to  the 
point. 

"  With  me  ?  I  am  an  old  man.  Children  of  that 
age  detest  old  men." 

I  thought  his  manner  constrained,  and  it  was  un 
like  him  not  to  laugh  as  he  made  the  speech.  The 
conviction  grew  upon  me  that  Hedwig  was  the  object 
of  his  visit.  Moreover,  I  became  persuaded  that  he 
was  but  a  poor  sort  of  villain,  for  he  was  impulsive, 
as  villains  should  never  be.  We  leaned  over  the 
stone  sill  of  the  window,  which  he  had  opened  dur 
ing  the  conversation.  There  was  a  little  trail  of  ants 
climbing  up  and  down  the  wall  at  the  side,  and  he 
watched  them.  One  of  the  small  creatures,  heavily 
laden  with  a  seed  of  some  sort,  and  toiling  painfully 
under  the  burden,  had  been  separated  from  the  rest, 
and  clambered  over  the  edge  of  the  window-sill.  On 
reaching  the  level  surface  it  paused,  as  though  very 
weary,  and  looked  about,  moving  its  tiny  horns. 
Benoni  watched  a  moment,  and  then  with  one  finger 
he  suddenly  whisked  the  poor  little  thing  into  space. 
It  hurt  me  to  see  it,  and  I  knew  he  must  be  cruel,  for 
he  laughed  aloud.  Somehow,  it  would  have  seemed 


A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

less  cruel  to  have  brushed  away  the  whole  trail  of 
insects,  rather  than  to  pitch  upon  this  one  small, 
tired  workman,  overladen  and  forgotten  by  the  rest. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"  I  asked  involuntarily. 

"Why?  Why  do  I  do  anything?  Because  I 
please,  the  best  of  all  reasons." 

"  Of  course,  it  was  foolish  of  me  to  ask  you.  That 
is  probably  the  cause  of  your  presence  here.  You 
would  like  to  hurl  my  boy  Nino  from  the  height  he 
has  reached  in  his  love,  and  in  order  to  satisfy  your 
cruel  instincts  you  have  come  here  to  attack  the  heart 
of  an  innocent  girl." 

I  watched  him  narrowly,  and  I  have  often  won 
dered  how  I  had  the  courage  to  insult  him.  It  was 
a  bold  shot  at  the  truth,  and  his  look  satisfied  me 
that  I  was  not  very  wide  of  the  mark.  To  accuse  a 
grey-haired  old  man  of  attempting  to  win  the  affec 
tions  of  a  young  girl  would  seem  absurd  enough. 
But  if  you  had  ever  seen  Benoni,  you  would  under 
stand  that  he  was  anything  but  old,  save  for  his  snowy 
locks.  Many  a  boy  might  envy  the  strange  activity 
of  his  thin  limbs,  the  bloom  and  freshness  of  his 
eager  face,  and  the  fire  of  his  eyes.  He  was  impul 
sive,  too;  for  instead  of  laughing  at  the  absurdity  of 
the  thing,  or  at  what  should  have  been  its  absurdity, 
as  a  more  accomplished  villain  would  have  done,  he 
was  palpably  angry.  He  looked  quickly  at  me  and 
moved  savagely,  so  that  I  drew  back,  and  it  was  not 
till  some  moments  later  that  it  occurred  to  him  that 
he  ought  to  seem  amused. 

"  How  ridiculous !  "  he  cried  at  last,  mastering  his 
anger.  "You  are  joking." 


222  A   liOMAN   SINGER. 

"Oh,  of  course  I  am  joking,"  I  answered,  leaving 
the  window.  "And  now  I  must  wish  you  good- 
morning,  with  many  apologies  for  my  intrusion." 

He  must  have  been  glad  to  be  rid  of  me,  but  he 
politely  insisted  on  showing  me  to  the  gate.  Per 
haps  he  wanted  to  be  sure  that  I  should  not  ask  ques 
tions  of  the  servants. 

As  we  passed  through  an  outer  hall,  we  came  sud 
denly  upon  Hedwig,  entering  from  the  opposite 
direction,  dressed  in  black,  and  looking  like  a  beau 
tiful  shadow  of  pain.  As  I  have  told  you,  she  did 
not  know  me.  Benoni  bowed  to  the  ground,  as  she 
went  by,  making  some  flattering  speech  about  her 
appearance.  She  had  started  slightly  on  first  seeing 
us,  and  then  she  went  on  without  speaking;  but 
there  was  on  her  face  a  look  of  such  sovereign  scorn 
and  loathing  as  I  never  saw  on  the  features  of  any 
living  being.  And  more  than  scorn,  for  there  was 
fear  and  hatred  with  it;  so  that  if  a  glance  could  tell 
a  whole  history,  there  should  have  been  no  detail  of 
her  feeling  for  Benoni  left  to  guess. 

This  meeting  produced  a  profound  impression  on 
me,  and  I  saw  her  face  in  my  dreams  that  night. 
Had  anything  been  wanting  to  complete,  in  my  judg 
ment,  the  plan  of  the  situation  in  the  castle,  that 
something  was  now  supplied.  The  Jew  had  come 
there  to  get  her  for  himself.  She  hated  him  for  his 
own  sake ;  she  hated  him  because  she  was  faithful  to 
Nino ;  she  hated  him  because  he  perhaps  knew  of  her 
secret  love  for  my  boy.  Poor  maiden,  shut  up  for 
days  and  weeks  to  come  with  a  man  she  dreaded  and 
scorned!  The  sight  of  her  recalled  to  me  that  I  had 


A    ROMAN   SINGER.  223 

in  my  pocket  the  letter  Nino  had  sent  me  for  her, 
weeks  earlier,  and  which  I  had  found  no  means  of 
delivering  since  I  had  been  in  Fillettino.  Suddenly 
I  was  seized  with  a  mad  determination  to  deliver  it 
at  any  cost.  The  baron  bowed  me  out  of  the  gate, 
and  I  paused  outside  when  the  ponderous  door  had 
swung  on  its  hinges  and  his  footsteps  were  echoing 
back  through  the  court. 

I  sat  down  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridle-path,  and 
with  my  knife  cut  some  of  the  stitches  that  sewed  my 
money  between  my  two  waistcoats.  I  took  out  one 
of  the  bills  of  a  hundred  francs  which  were  concealed 
within,  I  found  the  letter  Nino  had  sent  me  for  Hed- 
wig,  and  I  once  more  rang  the  bell.  The  man  who 
had  admitted  me  came  again,  and  looked  at  me  in 
some  astonishment.  But  I  gave  him  no  time  to 
question  me. 

"Here  is  a  note  for  a  hundred  francs,"  I  said. 
"  Take  it,  and  give  this  letter  to  the  Signora  Contes- 
sina.  If  you  bring  me  a  written  answer  here  to-mor 
row  at  this  hour,  I  will  give  you  as  much  more." 

The  man  was  dumbfounded  for  a  moment,  after 
which  he  clutched  the  money  and  the  letter  greedily, 
and  hid  them  in  his  coat. 

"Your  excellency  shall  be  punctually  obeyed,"  he 
said,  with  a  deep  bow,  and  I  went  away. 

It  was  recklessly  extravagant  of  me  to  do  this,  but 
there  was  no  other  course.  A  small  bribe  would  have 
been  worse  than  none  at  all.  If  you  can  afford  to 
pay  largely,  it  is  better  to  bribe  a  servant  than  to 
trust  a  friend.  Your  friend  has  nothing  to  gain  by 
keeping  your  secret,  whereas  the  servant  hopes  for 


224  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

more  money  in  the  future,  and  the  prospect  of  profit 
makes  him  as  silent  as  the  grave. 

I  would  certainly  not  have  acted  as  I  did,  had  1 
not  met  Hedwig  in  the  hall.  But  the  sight  of  her 
pale  face  and  heavy  eyes  went  to  my  heart,  and  1 
would  have  given  the  whole  of  my  little  fortune  to 
bring  some  gladness  to  her,  even  though  I  might  not 
see  it.  The  situation,  too,  was  so  novel  and  alarm 
ing  that  I  felt  obliged  to  act  quickly,  not  knowing 
what  evils  delay  might  produce. 

On  the  following  morning  I  went  up  to  the  gate 
way  again  and  rang  the  bell.  The  same  man  ap 
peared.  He  slipped  a  note  into  my  hand,  and  I 
slipped  a  bill  into  his.  But,  to  my  surprise,  he  did 
not  shut  the  door  and  retire. 

"  The  signorina  said  your  excellency  should  read 
the  note,  and  I  should  accompany  you,"  he  said;  and 
I  saw  he  had  his  hat  in  his  hand,  as  if  ready  to  go. 
I  tore  open  the  note.  It  merely  said  that  the  servant 
was  trustworthy,  and  would  "instruct  the  Signor 
Grandi "  how  to  act. 

"  You  told  the  contessina  my  name,  then  ?  "  I  said 
to  the  man. 

He  had  announced  me  to  the  baron,  and  conse 
quently  knew  who  I  was.  He  nodded,  closed  the  doo:* 
behind  him,  and  came  with  me.  When  we  were  in 
the  street,  he  explained  that  Hedwig  desired  to  speak 
with  me.  He  expounded  the  fact  that  there  was  a 
staircase  in  the  rock,  leading  to  the  level  of  the  town . 
Furthermore,  he  said  that  the  old  count  and  the  baron 
occasionally  drank  deeply,  as  soldiers  and  adven 
turers  will  do,  to  pass  the  evening.  The  next  timo 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  225 

it  occurred,  he,  the  faithful  servant,  would  come  to 
my  lodging  and  conduct  me  into  the  castle  by  the 
aforesaid  passage,  of  which  he  had  the  key. 

I  confess  I  was  unpleasantly  alarmed  at  the  pros 
pect  of  making  a  burglarious  entrance  in  such  roman 
tic  fashion.  It  savoured  more  of  the  last  century 
than  of  the  quiet  and  eminently  respectable  age  in 
which  we  live.  But  then,  the  castle  of  Fillettino 
was  built  hundreds  of  years  ago,  and  it  is  not  my 
fault  if  it  has  not  gone  to  ruin,  like  so  many  others 
of  its  kind.  The  man  recommended  me  to  be  always 
at  home  after  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  in  case  I 
were  wanted,  and  to  avoid  seeing  the  baron  when  he 
was  abroad.  He  came  and  saw  where  I  lived,  and 
with  many  bows  he  left  me. 

You  may  imagine  in  what  anxiety  I  passed  my 
time.  A  whole  week  elapsed,  and  yet  I  was  never 
summoned.  Every  evening  at  seven,  an  hour  before 
the  time  named,  I  was  in  my  room,  waiting  for  some 
one  who  never  came.  I  was  so  much  disturbed  in 
mind  that  I  lost  my  appetite  and  thought  of  being 
bled  again.  But  I  thought  it  too  soon,  and  con 
tented  myself  with  getting  a  little  tamarind  from  the 
apothecary. 

One  morning  the  apothecary,  who  is  also  the  post 
master,  gave  me  a  letter  from  Nino,  dated  in  Rome. 
His  engagement  was  over,  he  had  reached  Rome,  and 
he  would  join  me  immediately. 


226  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

As  it  often  happens  that,  in  affairs  of  importance, 
the  minor  events  which  lead  to  the  ultimate  result 
seem  to  occur  rapidly,  and  almost  to  stumble  over 
each  other  in  their  haste,  it  came  to  pass  that  on  the 
very  evening  after  I  had  got  Nino's  letter  I  was  sent 
for  by  the  contessina. 

When  the  man  came  to  call  me,  I  was  sitting  in  my 
room,  from  force  of  habit,  though  the  long  delay  had 
made  the  possibility  of  the  meeting  seem  shadowy. 
I  was  hoping  that  Nino  might  arrive  in  time  to  go 
in  my  place,  for  I  knew  that  he  would  not  be  many 
hours  behind  his  letter.  He  would  assuredly  travel 
as  fast  as  he  could,  and  if  he  had  understood  my 
directions  he  was  not  likely  to  go  astray.  But  in 
spite  of  my  hopes  the  summons  came  too  soon,  and  I 
was  obliged  to  go  myself. 

Picture  to  yourselves  how  I  looked  and  how  I  felt: 
a  sober  old  professor,  as  I  am,  stealing  out  in  the 
night,  all  wrapped  in  a  cloak  as  dark  and  shabby  as 
any  conspirator's ;  armed  with  a  good  knife  in  case 
of  accidents;  with  beating  heart,  and  doubting 
whether  I  could  use  my  weapon  if  needful;  and 
guided  to  the  place  of  tryst  by  the  confidential  ser 
vant  of  a  beautiful  and  unhappy  maiden.  I  have 
often  laughed  since  then  at  the  figure  I  must  have 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  227 

cut,  but  I  did  not  laugh  at  the  time.  It  was  a  very 
serious  affair. 

We  skirted  the  base  of  the  huge  rock  on  which  the 
castle  is  built,  and  reached  the  small,  low  door  with 
out  meeting  any  one.  It  was  a  moonlit  night,  —  the 
Paschal  moon  was  nearly  at  the  full,  —  and  the  white 
ness  made  each  separate  iron  rivet  in  the  door  stand 
out  distinct,  thrown  into  relief  by  its  own  small 
shadow  on  the  seamed  oak.  My  guide  produced  a 
ponderous  key,  which  screamed  hoarsely  in  the  lock 
under  the  pressure  of  his  two  hands,  as  he  made  it 
turn  in  the  rusty  wards.  The  noise  frightened  me, 
but  the  man  laughed,  and  said  they  could  not  hear 
where  they  sat,  far  up  in  the  vaulted  chamber,  tell 
ing  long  stories  over  their  wine.  We  entered,  and 
I  had  to  mount  a  little  way  up  the  dark  steps  to  give 
him  room  to  close  the  door  behind  us,  by  which  we 
were  left  in  total  darkness.  I  confess  I  was  very 
nervous  and  frightened  until  he  lighted  a  taper  which 
he  had  brought  and  made  enough  light  to  show  the 
way.  The  stairs  were  winding  and  steep,  but  per 
fectly  dry,  and  when  he  had  passed  me  I  followed 
him,  feeling  that  at  all  events  the  door  behind  was 
closed,  and  there  was  some  one  between  me  and  any 
danger  ahead. 

The  man  paused  in  front  of  me,  and  when  I  had 
rounded  the  corner  of  the  winding  steps  I  saw  that  a 
brighter  light  than  ours  shone  from  a  small  doorway 
opening  directly  upon  the  stair.  In  another  moment 
I  was  in  the  presence  of  Hedwig  von  Lira.  The  man 
retired,  and  left  us. 

She   stood,   dressed   in   black,   against  the  rough 


228  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

stone;  a  gilded  lamp  stood  on  the  floor,  and  its  strong 
light  streamed  upwards  to  her  white  face.  Her  eyes 
caught  the  brightness,  and  burned  like  deep,  dark 
gems,  though  they  were  so  blue  in  the  day.  She 
looked  like  a  person  tortured  past  endurance,  so  that 
the  pain  of  the  soul  has  taken  shape,  and  the  agony 
of  the  heart  has  assumed  substance.  Tears  shed  had 
hollowed  the  marble  cheeks,  and  the  stronger  suffer 
ing  that  cannot  weep  had  chiseled  out  great  shadows 
beneath  her  brows.  Her  thin  clasped  hands  seemed 
to  be  wringing  each  other  into  strange  shapes  of  woe ; 
and  though  she  stood  erect  as  a  slender  pillar  against 
the  black  rock,  it  was  rather  from  the  courage  of 
despair  than  because  she  was  straight  and  tall  by  her 
own  nature. 

I  bent  low  before  her,  awed  by  the  extremity  of 
suffering  I  saw. 

uAre  you  Signer  Grandi?"  she  asked,  in  a  low 
and  trembling  voice. 

"Most  humbly  at  your  service,  Signora  Contes- 
sina,"  I  answered.  She  put  out  her  hand  to  me,  and 
then  drew  it  back  quickly,  with  a  timid,  nervous  look 
as  I  moved  to  take  it. 

"I  never  saw  you,"  she  said,  "but  I  feel  as  though 
you  must  be  a  friend."  She  paused. 

"Indeed,  signorina,  I  am  here  for  that  reason," 
said  I,  trying  to  speak  stoutly,  and  so  to  inspire  her 
with  some  courage.  "  Tell  me  how  I  can  best  serve 
you;  and  though  I  am  not  young  and  strong  like 
Nino  Cardegna,  my  boy,  I  am  not  so  old  but  that  I 
can  do  whatsoever  you  command." 

"Then,  in  God's  name,  save  me  from  this  "  — 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  229 

But  again  the  sentence  died  upon  her  lips,  and  she 
glanced  anxiously  at  the  door.  I  reflected  that  if 
any  one  came  we  should  be  caught  like  mice  in  a 
trap,  and  I  made  as  though  I  would  look  out  upon 
the  stairs.  But  she  stopped  me. 

"  I  am  foolishly  frightened, "  she  said.  "  That  man 
is  faithful,  and  will  keep  watch."  I  thought  it  time 
to  ascertain  her  wishes. 

"Signorina,"  said  I,  "you  ask  me  to  save  you. 
You  do  not  say  from  what.  I  can  at  least  tell  you 
that  Nino  Cardegna  will  be  here  in  a  day  or  two." 

At  this  sudden  news  she  gave  a  little  cry,  and  the 
blood  rushed  to  her  cheeks,  in  strange  contrast  with 
their  deathly  whiteness.  She  seemed  on  the  point 
of  speaking,  but  checked  herself,  and  her  eyes,  that 
had  looked  me  through  and  through  a  moment  ago, 
drooped  modestly  under  my  glance. 

"Is  it  possible?"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  changed 
voice.  "  Yes,  if  he  comes,  I  think  the  Signer  Car 
degna  will  help  me." 

"Madam,"  I  said,  very  courteously,  for  I  guessed 
her  embarrassment,  "  I  can  assure  you  that  my  boy 
is  ready  to  give  you  his  life  in  return  for  the  kind 
ness  he  received  at  your  hands  in  Rome." 

She  looked  up,  smiling  through  her  tears,  for  the 
sudden  happiness  had  moistened  the  drooping  lids. 

"You  are  very  kind,  Signor  Grandi.  Signor  Car 
degna  is,  I  believe,  a  good  friend  of  mine.  You  say 
he  will  be  here  ?  " 

"I  received  a  letter  from  him  to-day,  dated  in 
Rome,  by  which  he  tells  me  that  he  will  start  im 
mediately.  He  may  be  here  to-morrow  morning." 


230  A   ROMAN    SINGER. 

Hedwig  had  regained  her  composure,  perhaps 
because  she  was  reassured  by  my  manner  of  speaking 
about  Nino.  I,  however,  was  anxious  to  hear  from 
her  own  lips  some  confirmation  of  my  suspicions  con 
cerning  the  baron.  "I  have  no  doubt,"  I  continued, 
presently,  "  that,  with  your  consent,  my  boy  will  be 
able  to  deliver  you  from  this  prison  "  — 

I  used  the  word  at  a  venture.  Had  Hedwig  suf 
fered  less,  and  been  less  cruelly  tormented,  she 
would  have  rebuked  me  for  the  expression.  But  I 
had  recalled  her  to  her  position,  and  her  self-control 
gave  way  at  once. 

"  Oh,  you  are  right  to  call  it  a  prison !  "  she  cried. 
"  It  is  as  much  a  prison  as  this  chamber  hewn  out  of 
the  rock,  where  so  many  a  wretch  has  languished 
hopelessly;  a  prison  from  which  I  am  daily  taken 
out  into  the  sweet  sun,  to  breathe  and  be  kept  alive, 
and  to  taste  how  joyful  a  thing  liberty  must  be! 
And  every  day  I  am  brought  back,  and  told  fchat  I 
may  be  free  if  I  will  consent.  Consent!  God  of 
mercy!"  she  moaned,  in  a  sudden  tempest  of  pas 
sionate  despair.  "Consent  ever  to  belong,  body  — 
and  soul  —  to  be  touched,  polluted,  desecrated,  by 
that  inhuman  monster;  sold  to  him,  to  a  creature 
without  pity,  whose  heart  is  a  toad,  a  venomous 
creeping  thing,  —  sold  to  him  for  this  life,  and  to  the 
vengeance  of  God  hereafter;  bartered,  traded,  and 
told  that  I  am  so  vile  and  lost  that  the  very  price  I 
am  offered  is  an  honour  to  me,  being  so  much  more 
than  my  value." 

She  came  toward  me  as  she  spoke,  and  the  passion 
ate,  unshed  tears  that  wore  in  her  seemed  to  choke 
her,  so  that  her  voice  was  hoarse. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  231 

"And  for  what  —  for  what?"  she  cried  wildly, 
seizing  my  arm  and  looking  fiercely  into  my  eyes. 
"For  what,  I  say?  Because  I  gave  him  a  poor  rose; 
because  I  let  him  see  me  once;  because  I  loved  his 
sweet  voice;  because  —  because  —  I  love  him,  and 
will  love  him,  and  do  love  him,  though  I  die!  " 

The  girl  was  in  a  frenzy  of  passion  and  love  and 
hate  all  together,  and  did  not  count  her  words.  The 
white  heat  of  her  tormented  soul  blazed  from  her 
pale  face  and  illuminated  every  feature,  though  she 
was  turned  from  the  light,  and  she  shook  my  arm  in 
her  grasp  so  that  it  pained  me.  The  marble  was 
burned  in  the  fire,  and  must  consume  itself  to  ashes. 
The  white  and  calm  statue  was  become  a  pillar  of 
flame  in  the  life-and-death  struggle  for  love.  I 
strove  to  speak,  but  could  not,  for  fear  and  wonder 
tied  my  tongue.  And  indeed  she  gave  me  short  time 
to  think. 

"I  tell  you  I  love  him,  as  he  loves  me,"  she  con 
tinued,  her  voice  trembling  upon  the  rising  cadence, 
"  with  all  my  whole  being.  Tell  him  so.  Tell  him 
he  must  save  me,  and  that  only  he  can :  that  for  his 
sake  I  am  tortured,  and  scorned,  and  disgraced,  and 
sold;  my  body  thrown  to  dogs,  and  worse  than  dogs; 
my  soul  given  over  to  devils  that  tempt  me  to  kill 
and  be  free,  —  by  my  own  father,  for  his  sake.  Tell 
him  that  these  hands  he  kissed  are  wasted  with  wring 
ing  small  pains  from  each  other,  but  the  greater  pain 
drives  them  to  do  worse.  Tell  him,  good  sir,  — you 
are  kind  and  love  him,  but  not  as  I  do,  —  tell  him 
that  this  golden  hair  of  mine  has  streaks  of  white  in 
these  terrible  two  months ;  that  these  eyes  he  loved 
are  worn  with  weeping.  Tell  him  "  — 


232  A  KOMAN   SINGEE. 

But  her  voice  failed  her,  and  she  staggered  against 
the  wall,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands.  A  trembling 
breath,  a  struggle,  a  great  wild  sob:  the  long-sealed 
tears  were  free,  and  flowed  fast  over  her  hands. 

"Oh,  no,  no,"  she  moaned,  "you  must  not  tell 
him  that. "  Then  choking  down  her  agony  she  turned 
to  me :  "  You  will  not  —  you  cannot  tell  him  of  this  ? 
I  am  weak,  ill,  but  I  will  bear  everything  for  —  for 
him." 

The  great  effort  had  exhausted  her,  and  I  think 
that  if  I  had  not  caught  her  she  would  have  fallen, 
and  she  would  have  hurt  herself  very  much  on  the 
stone  floor.  But  she  is  young,  and  I  am  not  very 
strong,  and  could  not  have  held  her  up.  So  I  knelt, 
letting  her  weight  come  on  my  shoulder. 

The  fair  head  rested  pathetically  against  my  old 
coat,  and  I  tried  to  wipe  away  her  tears  with  her 
long,  golden  hair;  for  I  had  not  any  handkerchief. 
But  very  soon  I  could  not  see  to  do  it.  I  was  crying 
myself,  for  the  pity  of  it  all,  and  my  tears  trickled 
down  and  fell  on  her  thin  hands.  And  so  I  kneeled, 
and  she  half  lay  and  half  sat  upon  the  floor,  with  her 
head  resting  on  my  shoulder.  I  was  glad  then  to  be 
old,  for  I  felt  that  I  had  a  right  to  comfort  her. 

Presently  she  looked  up  into  my  face,  and  saw  that 
I  was  weeping.  She  did  not  speak,  but  found  her 
little  lace  handkerchief,  and  pressed  it  to  my  eyes, 
—  first  to  one,  and  then  to  the  other;  and  the  action 
brought  a  faint  maidenly  flush  to  her  cheeks  through 
all  her  own  sorrow.  A  daughter  could  not  have  done 
it  more  kindly. 

"My  child,"  I  said  at  last,   "be  sure  that  your 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  233 

secret  is  safe  with  me.  But  there  is  one  coming 
with  whom  it  will  be  safer." 

"You  are  so  good,"  she  said,  and  her  head  sank 
once  more,  and  nestled  against  my  breast,  so  that  I 
could  just  see  the  bright  tresses  through  my  grey 
beard.  But  in  a  moment  she  looked  up  again,  and 
made  as  though  she  would  rise ;  and  then  I  helped 
her,  and  we  both  stood  on  our  feet. 

Poor,  beautiful,  tormented  Hedwig !  I  can  remem 
ber  it,  and  call  up  the  whole  picture  to  my  mind. 
She  still  leaned  on  my  arm,  and  looked  up  to  me, 
her  loosened  hair  all  falling  back  upon  her  shoulders ; 
and  the  wonderful  lines  of  her  delicate  face  made 
ethereal  and  angelic  by  her  sufferings. 

"My  dear,"  I  said  at  last,  smoothing  her  golden 
hair  with  my  hand,  as  I  thought  her  mother  would 
do,  if  she  had  a  mother,  —  "  my  dear,  your  interview 
with  my  boy  may  be  a  short  one,  and  you  may  not 
have  an  opportunity  to  meet  at  all  for  days.  If  it 
does  not  pain  you  too  much,  will  you  tell  me  just 
what  your  troubles  are,  here  ?  I  can  then  tell  him, 
so  that  you  can  save  the  time  when  }*ou  are  together." 
She  gazed  into  my  eyes  for  some  seconds,  as  though 
to  prove  me,  whether  I  were  a  true  man. 

"I  think  you  are  right,"  she  answered,  taking 
courage.  "  I  will  tell  you  in  two  words.  My  father 
treats  me  as  though  I  had  committed  some  unpardon 
able  crime,  which  I  do  not  at  all  understand.  He 
says  my  reputation  is  ruined.  Surely,  that  is  not 
true?" 

She  asked  the  question  so  innocently  and  simply 
that  I  smiled. 


234  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"No,  my  dear,  it  is  not  true,"  I  replied. 

"I  am  sure  I  cannot  understand  it,"  she  continued; 
"  but  he  says  so,  and  insists  that  my  only  course  is 
to  accept  what  he  calls  the  advantageous  offer  which 
has  suddenly  presented  itself.  He  insists  very 
roughly."  She  shuddered  slightly.  "He  gives  me 
no  peace.  It  appears  that  this  creature  wrote  to  ask 
my  father  for  my  hand,  when  we  left  Rome,  two 
months  ago.  The  letter  was  forwarded,  and  my 
father  began  at  once  to  tell  me  that  I  must  make  up 
my  mind  to  the  marriage.  At  first  I  used  to  be  very 
angry;  but  seeing  we  were  alone,  I  finally  deter 
mined  to  seem  indifferent,  and  not  to  answer  him 
when  he  talked  about  it.  Then  he  thought  my  spirit 
was  broken,  and  he  sent  for  Baron  Benoni,  who 
arrived  a  fortnight  ago.  Do  you  know  him,  Sign  or 
Grandi?  You  came  to  see  him,  so  I  suppose  you  do." 

The  same  look  of  hatred  and  loathing  came  to  her 
face  which  I  had  noticed  when  Benoni  and  I  had  met 
her  in  the  hall. 

"Yes,  I  know  him.  He  is  a  traitor,  a  villain,"  I 
said  earnestly. 

"Yes,  and  more  than  that.  But  he  is  a  great 
banker  in  Russia  "  — 

"A  banker?"  I  asked,  in  some  astonishment. 

"Did  you  not  know  it?  Yes;  he  is  very  rich,  and 
has  a  great  firm,  if  that  is  the  name  for  it.  But  he 
wanders  incessantly,  and  his  partners  take  care  of  his 
affairs.  My  father  says  that  I  shall  marry  him,  or 
end  my  days  here." 

"  Unless  you  end  his  for  him!  "  I  cried  indignantly. 

"Hush!"  said  she,  and  trembled  violently.  "He 
is  my  father,  you  know,"  she  added  earnestly. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  235 

"  But  you  cannot  consent "  —  I  began. 

"Consent!"  she  interrupted,  with  a  bitter  laugh. 
"I  will  die,  rather  than  consent." 

"  I  mean,  you  cannot  consent  to  be  shut  up  in  this 
valley  for  ever." 

"If  need  be,  I  will,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"There  is  no  need,"  I  whispered. 

"You  do  not  know  my  father.  He  is  a  man  of 
iron,"  she  answered  sorrowfully. 

"  You  do  not  know  my  boy.  He  is  a  man  of  his 
word,"  I  replied. 

We  were  both  silent,  for  we  both  knew  very  well 
what  our  words  meant.  From  such  a  situation  there 
could  be  but  one  escape. 

"I  think  you  ought  to  go  now,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  If  I  were  missed  it  would  all  be  over.  But  I  am 
sorry  to  let  you  go,  you  are  so  kind.  How  can  you 
let  me  know" —  She  stopped,  with  a  blush,  and 
stooped  to  raise  the  lamp  from  the  floor. 

"Can  you  not  meet  here  to-morrow  night,  when 
they  are  asleep?"  I  suggested,  knowing  what  her 
question  would  have  been. 

"  I  will  send  the  same  man  to  you  to-morrow  even 
ing,  and  let  you  know  what  is  possible,"  she  said. 
"  And  now  I  will  show  you  the  way  out  of  my  house," 
she  added,  with  the  first  faint  shadow  of  a  smile. 
Taking  the  lamp  in  her  hand,  she  went  out  of  the 
little  rock  chamber,  listened  a  moment,  and  began  to 
descend  the  steps. 

"But  the  key?"  I  asked,  following  her  light  foot* 
steps  with  my  heavier  tread. 

"It  is  in  the  door,"  she  answered,  and  went  on. 


236  A  EOMAN   SINGER. 

When  we  reached  the  bottom,  we  found  it  as  she 
had  said.  The  servant  had  left  the  key  on  the  in 
side,  and  with  some  difficulty  I  turned  the  bolts. 
We  stood  for  one  moment  in  the  narrow  space,  where 
the  lowest  step  was  set  close  against  the  door.  Her 
eyes  flashed  strangely  in  the  lamplight. 

"  How  easy  it  would  be !  "  I  said,  understanding 
her  glance.  She  nodded,  and  pushed  me  gently  out 
into  the  street;  and  1  closed  the  door,  and  leaned 
against  it  as  she  locked  it. 

"Good-night,"  she  said  from  the  other  side,  and  I 
put  my  mouth  to  the  keyhole. 

"  Good-night.  Courage !  "  I  answered.  I  could 
hear  her  lightly  mounting  the  stone  steps.  It  seemed 
wonderful  to  me  that  she  should  not  be  afraid  to  go 
back  alone.  But  love  makes  people  brave. 

The  moon  had  risen  higher  during  the  time  I  had 
been  within,  and  I  strolled  round  the  base  of  the 
rock,  lighting  a  cigar  as  I  went.  The  terrible  ad 
venture  I  had  dreaded  was  now  over,  and  I  felt  my 
self  again.  In  truth,  it  was  a  curious  thing  to  happen 
to  a  man  of  my  years  and  my  habits ;  but  the  things 
I  had  heard  had  so  much  absorbed  my  attention  that, 
while  the  interview  lasted,  I  had  forgotten  the  strange 
manner  of  the  meeting.  I  was  horrified  at  the  extent 
of  the  girl's  misery,  more  felt  than  understood  from 
her  brief  description  and  passionate  outbreaks.  There 
is  no  mistaking  the  strength  of  a  suffering  that  wastes 
and  consumes  the  mortal  part  of  us  as  wax  melts  at 
the  fire. 

And  Benoni  —  the  villain !  He  had  written  to  ask 
Hedwig  in  marriage  before  he  came  to  see  me  in 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  237 

Rome.  There  was  something  fiendish  in  his  almost 
inviting  me  to  see  his  triumph,  and  I  cursed  him  as 
I  kicked  the  loose  stones  in  the  road  with  my  heavy 
shoes.  So  he  was  a  banker,  as  well  as  a  musician 
and  a  wanderer.  Who  would  have  thought  it? 

"One  thing  is  clear,"  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  went 
to  bed :  "  unless  something  is  done  immediately,  that 
poor  girl  will  consume  herself  and  die."  And  all 
that  night  her  poor  thin  face  and  staring  eyes  were 
in  my  dreams ;  so  that  I  woke  up  several  times,  think 
ing  I  was  trying  to  comfort  her  and  could  not.  But 
toward  dawn  I  felt  sure  that  Nino  was  coming,  and 
that  all  would  be  well. 

I  was  chatting  with  my  old  landlady  the  next 
morning,  and  smoking  to  pass  the  time,  when  there 
was  suddenly  a  commotion  in  the  street.  That  is  to 
say,  some  one  was  arriving,  and  all  the  little  chil 
dren  turned  out  in  a  body  to  run  after  the  stranger, 
while  the  old  women  came  to  their  doors  with  their 
knitting,  and  squinted  under  the  bright  sunlight  to 
see  what  was  the  matter. 

It  was  Nino,  of  course  —  my  own  boy,  riding  on  a 
stout  mule,  with  a  countryman  by  his  side  upon 
another.  He  was  dressed  in  plain  grey  clothes,  and 
wore  high  boots.  His  great  felt  hat  drooped  half 
across  his  face,  and  hid  his  eyes  from  me ;  but  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  stern,  square  jaw  and  the  close, 
even  lips.  I  ran  toward  him,  and  called  him  by 
name.  In  a  moment  he  was  off  his  beast,  and  we 
embraced  tenderly. 

"Have  you  seen  her?" 

Those  were  the  first  words  he  spoke.     I  nodded. 


238  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

and  hurried  him  into  the  house  Avhere  I  lived,  fear 
ful  lest  some  mischance  should  bring  the  party  from 
the  castle  riding  by.  He  sent  his  man  with  the 
mules  to  the  inn,  and  when  we  were  at  last  alone 
together  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  and  took  off 
his  hat. 

Nino  too  was  changed  in  the  two  months  that  had 
passed.  He  had  traveled  far,  had  sung  lustily,  and 
had  been  applauded  to  the  skies ;  and  he  had  seen 
the  great  world.  But  there  was  more  than  all  that 
in  his  face.  There  were  lines  of  care  and  of  thought 
that  well  became  his  masculine  features.  There  was 
a  something  in  his  look  that  told  of  a  set  purpose, 
and  there  was  a  light  in  his  dark  eyes  that  spoke  a 
world  of  warning  to  any  one  who  might  dare  to 
thwart  him.  But  he  seemed  thinner,  and  his  cheeks 
were  as  white  as  the  paper  I  write  on. 

Some  men  are  born  masters,  and  never  once  relax 
the  authority  they  exercise  on  those  around  them. 
Nino  has  always  commanded  me,  as  he  seems  to  com 
mand  everybody  else,  in  the  fewest  words  possible. 
But  he  is  so  true  and  honest  and  brave  that  all  who 
know  him  love  him;  and  that  is  more  than  can  be 
said  for  most  artists.  As  he  sat  in  his  chair,  hesi 
tating  what  question  to  ask  first,  or  waiting  for  me 
to  speak,  I  thought  that  if  Hedwig  von  Lira  had 
searched  the  whole  world  for  a  man  able  to  deliver 
her  from  her  cruel  father  and  from  her  hated  lover 
she  could  have  chosen  no  better  champion  than  Nino 
Cardegna,  the  singer.  Of  course  you  all  say  that  I 
am  infatuated  with  the  boy,  and  that  I  helped  him 
to  do  a  reckless  thing,  simply  because  I  was  blinded 


A  KOMAN  SINGEB.  289 

by  my  fondness.  But  I  maintain,  and  shall  ever 
hold,  that  Nino  did  right  in  this  matter,  and  I  am 
telling  my  story  merely  in  order  that  honest  men  may 
judge. 

He  sat  by  the  window,  and  the  sun  poured  through 
the  panes  upon  his  curling  hair,  his  traveling  dress, 
and  his  dusty  boots.  The  woman  of  the  house  brought 
in  some  wine  and  water;  but  he  only  sipped  the 
water,  and  would  not  touch  the  wine. 

"You  are  a  dear,  kind  father  to  me,"  he  said,  put 
ting  out  his  hand  from  where  he  sat,  "  and  before  we 
talk  I  must  tell  you  how  much  I  thank  you." 

Simple  words,  as  they  look  on  paper;  but  another 
man  could  not  have  said  so  much  in  an  hour,  as  his 
voice  and  look  told  me. 


240  A  ROMAN  STOGVB. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"NiNO  mio,"  I  began,  "I  saw  the  contessina  last 
night.  She  is  in  a  very  dramatic  and  desperate  situa 
tion.  But  she  greets  you,  arid  looks  to  you  to  save 
her  from  her  troubles."  Nino's  face  was  calm,  but 
his  voice  trembled  a  little  as  he  answered. 

"Tell  me  quickly,  please,  what  the  troubles  are." 

"  Softly  —  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it.  You  must 
know  that  your  friend  Benoni  is  a  traitor  to  you,  and 
is  here.  Do  not  look  astonished.  He  has  made  up 
his  mind  to  marry  the  contessina,  and  she  says  she 
will  die  rather  than  take  him,  which  is  quite  right 
of  her." 

At  the  latter  piece  of  news,  Nino  sprang  from  his 
chair. 

"  You  do  not  seriously  mean  that  her  father  is  try 
ing  to  make  her  marry  Benoni?"  he  cried. 

"It  is  infamous,  my  dear  boy;  but  it  is  true." 

"Infamous!  I  should  think  you  could  find  a 
stronger  word.  How  did  you  learn  this  ?  " 

I  detailed  the  circumstances  of  our  meeting  on  the 
previous  night.  While  I  talked,  Nino  listened  with 
intense  interest,  and  his  face  changed  its  look  from 
anger  to  pity,  and  from  pity  to  horror.  When  I  had 
finished,  he  was  silent. 

"You  can  see  for  yourself,"  I  said,  "that  the  case 
is  urgent." 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  241 

"  I  will  take  her  away, "  said  Nino,  at  last.  "  It  will 
be  very  unpleasant  for  the  count.  He  would  have 
been  wiser  to  allow  her  to  have  her  own  way." 

"Do  nothing  rash,  Nino  mio.  Consider  a  little 
what  the  consequences  would  be  if  you  were  caught 
in  the  act  of  violently  carrying  off  the  daughter  of  a 
man  as  powerful  as  Von  Lira. 

"Bah!  You  talk  of  his  power  as  though  we  lived 
under  the  Colonnesi  and  the  Orsini,  instead  of  under 
a  free  monarchy.  If  I  am  once  married  to  her,  what 
have  I  to  fear?  Do  you  think  the  count  would  go 
to  law  about  his  daughter's  reputation  ?  Or  do  you 
suppose  he  would  try  to  murder  me  ?  " 

"I  would  do  both,  in  his  place,"  I  answered. 
"  But  perhaps  you  are  right,  and  he  will  yield  when  he 
sees  that  he  is  outwitted.  Think  again,  and  suppose 
that  the  contessina  herself  objects  to  such  a  step." 

"  That  is  a  different  matter.  She  shall  do  nothing 
save  by  her  own  free  will.  You  do  not  imagine  that 
I  would  try  to  take  her  away  unless  she  were  will 
ing?"  He  sat  down  again  beside  me,  and  affection 
ately  laid  one  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"Women,  Nino,  are  women,"  I  remarked. 

"Unless  they  are  angels,"  he  assented. 

"  Keep  the  angels  for  Paradise,  and  beware  of  tak 
ing  them  into  consideration  in  this  working-day 
world.  I  have  often  told  you,  my  boy,  that  I  am 
older  than  you." 

"As  if  I  doubted  that!  "  he  laughed. 

"  Very  well.  I  know  something  about  women.  A 
hundred  women  will  tell  you  that  they  are  ready  to 
run  away  with  you ;  but  not  more  than  one  in  the 


242  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

hundred  will  really  leave  everything  and  follow  you 
to  the  end  of  the  world,  when  the  moment  comes. 
They  always  make  a  fuss  at  the  last,  and  say  it  is 
too  dangerous,  and  you  may  be  caught.  That  is  the 
way  of  them.  You  will  be  quite  ready  with  a  ladder 
of  ropes,  like  one  of  Boccaccio's  men,  and  a  roll  of 
bank-notes  for  the  journey,  and  smelling-salts,  and  a 
cushion  for  the  puppy  dog,  and  a  separate  conveyance 
for  the  maid,  just  according  to  the  directions  she  has 
given  you ;  then,  at  the  very  last,  she  will  perhaps 
say  that  she  is  afraid  of  hurting  her  father's  feelings 
by  leaving  him  without  any  warning.  Be  careful, 
Nino!" 

"As  for  that,"  he  answered  sullenly  enough,  "if 
she  will  not,  she  will  not;  and  I  would  not  attempt 
to  persuade  her  against  her  inclination.  But  unless 
you  have  very  much  exaggerated  what  you  saw  in 
her  face,  she  will  be  ready  at  five  minutes'  notice. 
It  must  be  very  like  hell,  up  there  in  that  castle,  I 
should  think." 

"  Messer  Diavolo,  who  rules  over  the  house,  will 
not  let  his  prey  escape  him  so  easily  as  you  think." 

"Her  father?"  he  asked. 

"No;  Benoni.  There  is  no  creature  so  relentless 
as  an  old  man  in  pursuit  of  a  young  woman." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  Benoni." 

"You  need  not  be  afraid  of  her  father,"  said  I, 
laughing.  "He  is  lame,  and  cannot  run  after  you." 

I  do  not  know  why  it  is  that  we  Romans  laugh  at 
lame  people ;  we  are  sorry  for  them,  of  course,  as  we 
are  for  other  cripples. 

"  There  is  something  more  than  fear  in  the  matter,'1 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  243 

said  Nino  seriously.  "  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have 
upon  one's  soul." 

"What?"  I  asked. 

"  To  take  a  daughter  away  from  her  father  without 
his  consent,  —  or  at  least  without  consulting  him.  I 
should  not  like  to  do  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  ask  the  old  gentleman's  consent 
before  eloping  with  his  daughter?  You  are  a  little 
donkey,  Nino,  upon  my  word." 

"Donkey,  or  anything  else  you  like,  but  I  will  act 
like  a  galantuomo.  I  will  see  the  count,  and  ask 
him  once  more  whether  he  is  willing  to  let  his  daugh 
ter  marry  me.  If  not,  so  much  the  worse ;  he  will  be 
warned." 

"Look  here,  Nino,"  I  said,  astonished  at  the  idea. 
"  I  have  taught  you  a  little  logic.  Suppose  that  you 
meant  to  steal  a  horse,  instead  of  a  woman.  Would 
you  go  to  the  owner  of  the  horse,  with  your  hat  in 
your  hand,  and  say,  4 1  trust  your  worship  will  not 
be  offended  if  I  steal  this  horse,  which  seems  to  be  a 
good  animal  and  pleases  me ; '  and  then  would  you 
expect  him  to  allow  you  to  steal  his  horse  ?  " 

"  Sor  Cornelio,  the  case  is  not  the  same.  Women 
have  a  right  to  be  free,  and  to  marry  whom  they 
please ;  but  horses  are  slaves.  However,  as  I  am  not 
a  thief,  I  should  certainly  ask  the  man  for  the  horse ; 
and  if  he  refused  it,  and  I  conceived  that  I  had  a 
right  to  have  it,  I  would  take  it  by  force,  and  not  by 
stealth." 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  if  you  meant  to  get  posses 
sion  of  what  was  not  yours  you  might  as  well  get  it 
in  the  easiest  possible  way,"  I  objected.  "But  we 


244  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

need  not  argue  the  case.  There  is  a  much  better  rea 
son  why  you  should  not  consult  the  count." 

"I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  Nino  stubbornly. 

"Nevertheless,  it  is  so.  The  Contessina  di  Lira 
is  desperately  unhappy,  and  if  nothing  is  done  she 
may  die.  Young  women  have  died  of  broken  hearts 
before  now.  You  have  no  right  to  endanger  her  life 
by  risking  failure.  Answer  me  that,  if  you  can,  and 
I  will  grant  you  are  a  cunning  sophist,  but  not  a 
good  lover." 

"There  is  reason  in  what  you  say  now,"  he  an 
swered.  "  I  had  not  thought  of  that  desperateness  of 
the  case  which  you  speak  of.  You  have  seen  her." 
He  buried  his  face  in  his  hand,  and  seemed  to  be 
thinking. 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  her,  and  I  wish  you  had  been  in 
my  place.  You  would  think  differently  about  asking 
her  father's  leave  to  rescue  her." 

From  having  been  anxious  to  prevent  anything 
rash,  it  seemed  that  I  was  now  urging  him  into  the 
very  jaws  of  danger.  I  think  that  Hedwig's  face 
was  before  me,  as  it  had  been  in  reality  on  the  previ 
ous  evening. 

"As  Curio  said  to  Caesar,"  I  continued,  "delay  is 
injurious  to  any  one  who  is  fully  prepared  for  action. 
I  remember  also  to  have  read  somewhere  that  such 
waste  of  time  in  diplomacy  and  palavering  is  the 
favourite  resource  of  feeble  and  timid  minds,  who 
regard  the  use  of  dilatory  and  ambiguous  measures 
as  an  evidence  of  the  most  admirable  and  consummate 
prudence." 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  use  so  much  learning  with  me," 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  245 

said  Nino.  "I  assure  you  that  I  shall  be  neither 
dilatory  nor  ambiguous.  In  fact,  I  will  go  at  once, 
without  even  dusting  my  boots,  and  I  will  say,  Give 
me  your  daughter,  if  you  can ;  and  if  you  cannot,  I 
will  still  hope  to  marry  her.  He  will  probably  say 
4  No,'  and  then  I  will  carry  her  off.  It  appears  to  me 
that  is  simple  enough." 

"  Take  my  advice,  Nino.  Carry  her  off  first,  and 
ask  permission  afterwards.  It  is  much  better.  The 
real  master  up  there  is  Benoni,  I  fancy,  and  not  the 
count.  Benoni  is  a  gentleman  who  will  give  you 
much  trouble.  If  you  go  now  to  see  Hedwig's 
father,  Benoni  will  be  present  at  the  interview." 
Nino  was  silent,  and  sat  stretching  his  legs  before 
him,  his  head  on  his  breast.  "  Benoni,"  I  continued, 
"  has  made  up  his  mind  to  succeed.  He  has  probably 
taken  this  fancy  into  his  head  out  of  pure  wicked 
ness.  Perhaps  he  is  bored,  and  really  wants  a  wife. 
But  I  believe  he  is  a  man  who  delights  in  cruelty 
and  would  as  lief  break  the  contessina's  heart  by 
getting  rid  of  you  as  by  marrying  her."  I  saw  that 
he  was  not  listening. 

"  I  have  an  idea,"  he  said  at  last.  "  You  are  not 
very  wise,  Messer  Cornelio,  and  you  counsel  me  to 
be  prudent  and  to  be  rash  in  the  same  breath." 

"  You  make  very  pretty  compliments,  Sor  Nino," 
I  answered  tartly.  He  put  out  his  hand  in  depreca 
tion. 

"  You  are  as  wise  as  any  man  can  be  who  is  not  in 
love,"  he  said,  looking  at  me  with  his  great  eyes. 
"  But  love  is  the  best  counselor." 

"  What  is  your  idea  ?  "  I  asked,  somewhat  pacified. 


246  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"  You  say  they  ride  together  every  day.  Yes  — 
very  good.  The  contessina  will  not  ride  to-day; 
partly  because  she  will  be  worn  out  with  fatigue 
from  last  night's  interview,  and  partly  because  she 
will  make  an  effort  to  discover  whether  I  have  ar 
rived  to-day  or  not.  You  can  count  on  that." 

"  I  imagine  so." 

"  Very  well,"  he  continued ;  "  in  that  case  one  of 
two  things  will  happen :  either  the  count  will  go  out 
alone,  or  they  will  all  stay  at  home." 

"  Why  will  Benoni  not  go  out  with  the  count?  " 

"  Because  Benoni  will  hope  to  see  Hedwig  alone, 
if  he  stays  at  home,  and  the  count  will  be  very  glad 
to  give  him  the  opportunity." 

"I  think  you  are  right,  Nino.  You  are  not  so 
stupid  as  I  thought." 

"  In  war,"  continued  the  boy,  "  a  general  gains  a 
great  advantage  by  separating  his  adversary's  forces. 
If  the  count  goes  out  alone,  I  will  present  myself  to 
him  in  the  road,  and  tell  him  what  I  want." 

"  Now  you  are  foolish  again.  You  should,  on  the 
contrary,  enter  the  house  when  the  count  is  away, 
and  take  the  signorina  with  you  then  and  there. 
Before  he  could  return  you  could  be  many  miles  on 
the  road  to  Rome." 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  tell  you  once  and  for  all,  Sor 
Cornelio,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  such  an  action  would 
be  dishonourable,  and  I  will  not  do  anything  of  the 
kind.  Moreover,  you  forget  that,  if  I  followed  your 
advice,  I  should  find  Benoni  at  home,  —  the  very 
man  from  whom  you  think  I  have  everything  to  fear. 
No ;  I  must  give  the  count  one  fair  chance." 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  247 

I  was  silent,  for  I  saw  he  was  determined,  and  yet 
I  would  not  let  him  think  that  I  was  satisfied. 

The  idea  of  losing  an  advantage  by  giving  an 
enemy  any  sort  of  warning  before  the  attack  seemed 
to  me  novel  in  the  extreme ;  but  I  comprehended 
that  Nino  saw  in  his  scheme  a  satisfaction  to  his  con 
science,  and  smelled  in  it  a  musty  odour  of  forgotten 
knight-errantry  which  he  had  probably  learned  to 
love  in  his  theatrical  experiences.  I  had  certainly 
not  expected  that  Nino  Cardegna,  the  peasant  child, 
would  turn  out  to  be  the  pink  of  chivalry  and  the 
mirror  of  honour.  But  I  could  not  help  admiring  his 
courage,  and  wondering  if  it  might  not  play  him 
false  at  the  perilous  moment.  I  did  not  half  know 
him  then,  though  he  had  been  with  me  for  so  many 
years.  But  I  was  very  anxious  to  ascertain  from  him 
what  he  meant  to  do,  for  I  feared  that  his  bold  action 
would  make  trouble,  and  I  had  visions  of  the  count 
and  Benoni  together  taking  sudden  and  summary 
vengeance  on  myself. 

"Nino,"  I  said,  "I  have  made  great  sacrifices  to 
help  you  in  finding  these  people,"  —  I  would  not  tell 
him  I  had  sold  my  vineyard  to  make  preparation  for 
a  longer  journey,  though  he  has  since  found  it  out,  — 
"  but  if  you  are  going  to  do  anything  rash  I  will  get 
on  my  little  ass,  and  ride  a  few  miles  from  the  vil 
lage  until  it  is  over."  Nino  laughed  loud. 

"  My  dear  professor,"  he  said,  "  do  not  be  afraid. 
I  will  give  you  plenty  of  time  to  get  out  of  the  way. 
Meanwhile,  the  contessina  is  certain  to  send  the 
confidential  servant  of  whom  you  speak,  to  give 
me  instructions.  If  I  am  not  here,  you  ought  to 


248  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

be,  in  order  to  receive  the  message.  Now  listen 
to  me." 

I  prepared  to  be  attentive  and  to  listen  to  his  scheme. 
I  was  by  no  means  expecting  the  plan  he  proposed. 

"  The  count  may  take  it  into  his  head  to  ride  at  a 
different  hour,  if  he  rides  alone,"  he  began.  "I  will 
therefore  have  my  mule  saddled  now,  and  will  station 
my  man  —  a  countryman  from  Subiaco  and  good  for 
any  devilry  —  in  some  place  where  he  can  watch  the 
entrance  to  the  house,  or  the  castle,  or  whatever  you 
call  this  place.  So  soon  as  he  sees  the  count  come 
out  he  will  call  me.  As  a  man  can  ride  in  only  one 
of  two  directions  in  this  valley,  I  shall  have  no  trouble 
whatever  in  meeting  the  old  gentleman,  even  if  I 
cannot  overtake  him  with  my  mule. 

"  Have  you  any  arms,  Nino  ?  " 

"  No.  I  do  not  need  weapons  to  face  an  old  man 
in  broad  daylight ;  and  he  is  too  much  of  a  soldier  to 
attack  me  if  I  am  defenceless.  If  the  servant  comes 
after  I  am  gone,  you  must  remember  every  detail 
of  what  he  says,  and  you  must  also  arrange  a  little 
matter  with  him.  Here  is  money,  as  much  as  will 
keep  any  Roman  servant  quiet.  The  man  will  be 
rich  before  we  have  done  with  him.  I  will  write  a 
letter,  which  he  must  deliver;  but  he  must  also 
know  what  he  has  to  do. 

"At  twelve  o'clock  to-night  the  contessina  must 
positively  be  at  the  door  of  the  staircase  by  which 
you  entered  yesterday.  Positively  —  do  you  under 
stand?  She  will  then  choose  for  herself  between 
what  she  is  suffering  now,  and  flight  with  me.  If 
she  chooses  to  fly,  my  mules  and  my  countryman 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  249 

shall  be  ready.  The  servant  who  admits  me  had 
better  make  the  best  of  his  way  to  Rome,  with  the 
money  he  has  got.  There  will  be  difficulties  in 
the  way  of  getting  the  contessina  to  the  staircase, 
especially  as  the  count  will  be  in  a  towering  passion 
with  me,  and  will  not  sleep  much.  But  he  will  not 
have  the  smallest  idea  that  I  shall  act  so  suddenly, 
and  he  will  fancy  that  when  once  his  daughter  is 
safe  within  the  walls  for  the  night  she  will  not 
think  of  escaping.  I  do  not  believe  he  even  knows 
of  the  existence  of  this  staircase.  At  all  events,  it 
appears,  from  your  success  in  bribing  the  first  man 
you  met,  that  the  servants  are  devoted  to  her  interests 
and  their  own,  and  not  at  all  to  those  of  her  father." 

"I  cannot  conceive,  Nino,"  said  I,  "why  you  do 
not  put  this  bold  plan  into  execution  without  seeing 
the  count  first,  and  making  the  whole  thing  so  dan 
gerous.  If  he  takes  alarm  in  the  night,  he  will 
catch  you  fast  enough  on  his  good  horses,  before 
you  are  at  Trevi." 

"I  am  determined  to  act  as  I  proposed,"  said 
Nino,  "  because  it  is  a  thousand  time  more  honour 
able,  and  because  I  am  certain  that  the  contessina 
would  not  have  me  act  otherwise.  She  will  also 
see  for  herself  that  flight  is  best;  for  I  am  sure 
the  count  will  make  a  scene  of  some  kind  when  he 
comes  home  from  meeting  me.  If  she  knows  she 
can  escape  to-night  she  will  not  suffer  from  what 
he  has  to  say ;  but  without  the  prospect  of  freedom 
she  would  suffer  very  much." 

"  Where  did  you  learn  to  understand  women,  my 
boy  ?  "  I  asked. 


250  A   ROMAN   SINGEE. 

"I  do  not  understand  women  in  general,"  he  an 
swered,  "  but  I  understand  very  well  the  only  woman 
who  exists  for  me  personally.  I  know  that  she  is 
the  soul  of  honour,  and  that  at  the  same  time  she 
has  enough  common  sense  to  perceive  the  circum 
stances  of  her  situation." 

"  But  how  will  you  make  sure  of  not  being  over 
taken?"  I  objected,  making  a  last  feeble  stand 
against  his  plan. 

"  That  is  simple  enough.  My  countryman  from 
Subiaco  knows  every  inch  of  these  hills.  He  says 
that  the  pass  above  Fillettino  is  impracticable  for 
any  animals  save  men,  mules,  and  donkeys.  A 
horse  would  roll  down  at  every  turn.  My  mules 
are  the  best  of  their  kind,  and  there  are  none  like 
them  here.  By  sunrise  I  shall  be  over  the  Serra 
and  well  on  the  way  to  Ceprano,  or  whatever  place  I 
may  choose  for  joining  the  railroad." 

"  And  I  ?  Will  you  leave  me  here  to  be  murdered 
by  that  Prussian  devil  ?  "  I  asked,  in  some  alarm. 

"  Why,  no,  padre  mio.  If  you  like,  you  can  start 
for  Rome  at  sunset,  or  as  soon  as  I  return  from  meet 
ing  the  count ;  or  you  can  get  on  your  donkey  and 
go  up  the  pass,  where  we  shall  overtake  you.  Nobody 
will  harm  you,  in  your  disguise,  and  your  donkey  is 
even  more  sure-footed  than  my  mules.  It  will  be  a 
bright  night,  too,  for  the  moon  is  full." 

"  Well,  well,  Nino,"  said  I  at  last,  "  I  suppose  you 
will  have  your  own  way,  as  you  always  do  in  the 
world.  And  if  it  must  be  so,  I  will  go  up  the  pass 
alone,  for  I  am  not  afraid  at  all.  It  would  be  against 
all  the  proprieties  that  you  should  be  riding  through 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  251 

a  wild  country  alone  at  night  with  the  young  lady 
you  intend  to  marry ;  and  if  I  go  with  you  there  will 
be  nothing  to  be  said,  for  I  am  a  very  proper  person, 
and  hold  a  responsible  position  in  Rome.  But  for 
charity's  sake,  do  not  undertake  anything  of  this  kind 
again  "  — 

"Again?"  exclaimed  Nino,  in  surprise.  "Do  you 
expect  me  to  spend  my  life  in  getting  married,  —  not 
to  say  in  eloping  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  trust  that  you  will  have  enough  of  it 
this  time." 

"  I  cannot  conceive  that  when  a  man  has  once  mar 
ried  the  woman  he  loves  he  should  ever  look  at 
another,"  said  Nino  gravely. 

"  You  are  a  most  blessed  fellow,"  I  exclaimed. 

Nino  found  my  writing  materials,  which  consisted 
of  a  bad  steel  pen,  some  coarse  ruled  paper,  and  a 
wretched  little  saucer  of  ink,  and  began  writing  an 
epistle  to  the  contessina.  I  watched  him  as  he  wrote, 
and  I  smoked  a  little  to  pass  the  time.  As  I  looked 
at  him,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  to-day,  at  least, 
he  was  handsome.  His  thick  hair  curled  about  his 
head,  and  his  white  skin  was  as  pale  and  clear  as 
milk.  I  thought  that  his  complexion  had  grown  less 
dark  than  it  used  to  be,  perhaps  from  being  so  much 
in  the  theatre  at  night.  That  takes  the  dark  blood 
out  of  the  cheeks.  But  any  woman  would  have 
looked  twice  at  him.  Besides,  there  was,  as  there  is 
now,  a  certain  marvelous  neatness  and  spotlessness 
about  his  dress ;  but  for  his  dusty  boots,  you  would 
not  have  guessed  that  he  had  been  traveling.  Poor 
Nino  I  When  he  had  not  a  penny  in  the  world  but 


252  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

what  he  earned  by  copying  music,  he  used  to  spend 
it  all  with  the  washerwoman,  so  that  Mariuccia  was 
often  horrified,  and  I  reproved  him  for  the  extrava 
gance. 

At  last  he  finished  writing,  and  put  his  letter  into 
the  only  envelope  there  was  left.  He  gave  it  to  me, 
and  said  he  should  go  out  and  order  his  mules  to  be 
ready. 

"I  may  be  gone  all  day,"  he  said,  "and  I  may 
return  in  a  few  hours.  I  cannot  tell.  In  any  case, 
wait  for  me,  and  give  the  letter  and  all  the  instruc 
tions  to  the  man,  if  he  comes." 

Then  he  thanked  me  once  more  very  affectionately, 
and  having  embraced  me  he  went  out. 

I  watched  from  the  window,  and  he  looked  up  and 
waved  his  hand.  I  remember  it  very  distinctly  — 
just  how  he  looked.  His  face  was  paler  than  ever, 
his  lips  were  close  set,  though  they  smiled,  and  his 
eyes  were  sad.  He  is  an  incomprehensible  boy  —  he 
always  was. 

I  was  left  alone,  with  plenty  of  time  for  medita 
tion,  and  I  assure  you  my  reflections  were  not  pleas 
ant.  O  love,  love,  what  madness  you  drive  us  into, 
by  day  and  night !  Surely  it  is  better  to  be  a  sober 
professor  of  philosophy  than  to  be  in  love,  ever  so 
wildly,  or  sorrowfully,  or  happily.  I  do  not  wonder 
that  a  parcel  of  idiots  have  tried  to  prove  that  Dante 
loved  philosophy  and  called  it  Beatrice.  He  would 
have  been  a  sober  professor,  if  that  were  true,  and  a 
happier  man.  But  I  am  sure  it  is  not  true,  for  I  was 
once  in  love  myself. 


A  KOMAN  SINGER.  258 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IT  fell  out  as  Nino  had  anticipated,  and  when  he 
told  me  all  the  details,  some  time  afterwards,  it  struck 
me  that  he  had  shown  an  uncommon  degree  of  intel 
ligence  in  predicting  that  the  old  count  would  ride 
alone  that  day.  He  had,  indeed,  so  made  his  arrange 
ments  that  even  if  the  whole  party  had  come  out  to 
gether  nothing  worse  would  have  occurred  than  a  post 
ponement  of  the  interview  he  sought.  But  he  was 
destined  to  get  what  he  wanted  that  very  day,  name 
ly,  an  opportunity  of  speaking  with  Von  Lira  alone. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock  when  he  left  me,  and  the  mid 
day  bell  was  ringing  from  the  church,  while  the  people 
bustled  about,  getting  their  food.  Every  old  woman 
had  a  piece  of  corn  cake,  and  the  ragged  children  got 
what  they  could,  gathering  the  crumbs  in  their  moth 
ers'  aprons.  A  few  rough  fellows  who  were  not  away 
at  work  in  the  valley  munched  the  maize  bread  with 
a  leek  and  a  bit  of  salt  fish,  and  some  of  them  had  oil 
on  it.  Our  mountain  people  eat  scarcely  anything 
else,  unless  it  be  a  little  meat  on  holidays,  or  an  egg 
when  the  hens  are  laying.  But  they  laugh  and  chat 
ter  over  the  coarse  fare,  and  drink  a  little  wine  when 
they  get  it.  Just  now,  however,  was  the  season  for 
fasting,  being  the  end  of  Holy  Week,  and  the  people 
made  a  virtue  of  necessity  and  kept  their  eggs  and 
their  wine  for  Easter. 


254  A    ROMAN   SINGER. 

When  Nino  went  out  he  found  his  countryman  and 
explained  to  him  what  he  was  to  do.  The  man  sad 
dled  one  of  the  mules  and  put  himself  on  the  watch, 
while  Nino  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  quaint  old  inn  and 
ate  some  bread.  It  was  the  end  of  March  when  these 
things  happened,  and  a  little  fire  was  grateful,  though 
one  could  do  very  well  without  it.  He  spread  his 
hands  to  the  flame  of  the  sticks,  as  he  sat  on  the 
wooden  settle  by  the  old  hearth,  and  he  slowly 
gnawed  his  corn  cake,  as  though  a  week  ago  he  had 
not  been  a  great  man  in  Paris,  dining  sumptuously 
with  famous  people.  He  was  not  thinking  of  that. 
He  was  looking,  in  the  flame,  for  a  fair  face  which 
he  saw  continually  before  him,  day  and  night.  He 
expected  to  wait  a  long  time,  —  some  hours,  perhaps. 

Twenty  minutes  had  not  elapsed,  however,  before 
his  man  came  breathless  through  the  door,  calling  to 
him  to  come  at  once  ;  for  the  solitary  rider  had  gone 
out,  as  was  expected,  and  at  a  pace  that  would  soon 
take  him  out  of  sight.  Nino  threw  his  corn  bread  to 
a  hungry  dog,  that  yelped  as  it  hit  him,  and  then 
fastened  on  it  like  a  beast  of  prey. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  and  his  man  were 
out  of  the  inn.  As  they  ran  to  the  place  where  the 
mule  was  tied  to  an  old  ring  in  the  crumbling  wall  of 
a  half-ruined  house  near  to  the  ascent  to  the  castle, 
the  man  told  Nino  that  the  fine  gentleman  had  ridden 
toward  Trevi,  down  the  valley.  Nino  mounted,  and 
hastened  in  the  same  direction. 

As  he  rode,  he  reflected  that  it  would  be  wiser  to 
meet  the  count  on  his  return,  and  pass  him  after  the 
interview,  as  though  going  away  from  Fillettino.  It 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  255 

would  be  a  little  harder  for  the  mule  ;  but  such 
an  animal,  used  to  bearing  enormous  burdens  for 
twelve  hours  at  a  stretch,  could  well  carry  Nino  over 
a  few  miles  of  good  road  before  sunset,  and  yet  be 
fresh  again  by  midnight.  One  of  those  great  sleek 
mules,  if  good-tempered,  will  tire  three  horses,  and 
never  feel  the  worse  for  it.  He  therefore  let  the 
beast  go  her  own  pace  along  the  road  to  Trevi,  wind 
ing  by  the  brink  of  the  rushing  torrent :  sometimes 
beneath  great  overhanging  cliffs,  sometimes  through 
bits  of  cultivated  land,  where  the  valley  widens ;  and 
now  and  then  passing  under  some  beech-trees,  still 
naked  and  skeleton-like  in  the  bright  March  air. 

But  Nino  rode  many  miles,  as  he  thought,  without 
meeting  the  count,  dangling  his  feet  out  of  the  stir 
rups,  and  humming  snatches  of  song  to  himself  to 
pass  the  time.  He  looked  at  his  watch, — a  beautiful 
gold  one,  given  him  by  a  very  great  personage  in 
Paris,  —  and  it  was  half  past  two  o'clock.  Then,  to 
avoid  tiring  his  mule,  he  got  off  and  sat  by  a  tree,  at 
a  place  whence  he  could  see  far  along  the  road.  But 
three  o'clock  came,  and  a  quarter  past,  and  he  began 
to  fear  that  the  count  had  gone  all  the  way  to  Trevi. 
Indeed,  Trevi  could  not  be  very  far  off,  he  thought. 
So  he  mounted  again,  and  paced  down  the  valley. 
He  says  that  in  all  that  time  he  never  thought  once 
of  what  he  should  say  to  the  count  when  he  met  him, 
having  determined  in  his  mind  once  and  for  all  what 
was  to  be  asked,  to  which  the  only  answer  must  be 
"yes"  or  "no." 

At  last,  before  he  reached  the  turn  in  the  valley, 
and  just  as  the  sun  was  passing  down  behind  the 


256  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

high  mountains  on  the  left,  beyond  the  stream,  he 
saw  the  man  he  had  come  out  to  meet,  not  a  hundred 
yards  away,  riding  toward  him  on  his  great  horse,  at 
a  foot  pace.  It  was  the  count,  and  he  seemed  lost  in 
thought,  for  his  head  was  bent  on  his  breast,  and  the 
reins  hung  loose  from  his  careless  hand.  He  did  not 
raise  his  eyes  until  he  was  close  to  Nino,  who  took  off 
his  hat  and  pulled  up  short. 

The  old  count  was  evidently  very  much  surprised, 
for  he  suddenly  straightened  himself  in  his  saddle, 
with  a  sort  of  jerk,  and  glared  savagely  at  Nino; 
his  wooden  features  appearing  to  lose  colour,  and  his 
long  moustache  standing  out  and  bristling.  He  also 
reined  in  his  horse,  and  the  pair  sat  on  their  beasts, 
not  five  yards  apart,  eyeing  each  other  like  a  pair  of 
duellists.  Nino  was  the  first  to  speak,  for  he  was 
prepared. 

"  Good-day,  Signor  Conte,"  he  said  as  calmly  as  he 
could.  "  You  have  not  forgotten  me,  I  am  sure." 

Lira  looked  more  and  more  amazed,  as  he  observed 
the  cool  courtesy  with  which  he  was  accosted.  But 
his  polite  manner  did  not  desert  him  even  then,  for 
he  raised  his  hat. 

"  Good-day,"  he  said,  briefly,  and  made  his  horse 
move  on.  He  was  too  proud  to  put  the  animal  to  a 
brisker  pace  than  a  walk,  lest  he  should  seem  to  avoid 
an  enemy.  But  Nino  turned  his  mule  at  the  same 
time. 

"Pardon  the  liberty,  sir,"  he  said,  "but  I  would 
take  advantage  of  this  opportunity  to  have  a  few 
words  with  you." 

"  It  is  a  liberty,  as   you   say,   sir,"   replied   Lira, 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  257 

stiffly,  and  looking  straight  before  him.  "  But  since 
you  have  met  me,  say  what  you  have  to  say  quickly." 

He  talked  in  the  same  curious  constructions  as 
formerly,  but  I  will  spare  you  the  grammatical 
vagaries. 

"Some  time  has  elapsed,"  continued  Nino,  " since 
our  unfortunate  encounter.  I  have  been  in  Paris, 
where  I  have  had  more  than  common  success  in  my 
profession.  From  being  a  very  poor  teacher  of 
Italian  to  the  signorina,  your  daughter,  I  am  become 
an  exceedingly  prosperous  artist.  My  character  is 
blameless  and  free  from  all  stain,  in  spite  of  the  sad 
business  in  which  we  were  both  concerned,  and  of 
which  you  knew  the  truth  from  the  dead  lady's  own 
lips."  ' 

"What  then?"  growled  Lira,  who  had  listened 
grimly,  and  was  fast  losing  his  temper.  "What 
then  ?  Do  you  suppose,  Signor  Cardegna,  that  I  am 
still  interested  in  your  comings  and  goings  ?  " 

"The  sequel  to  what  I  have  told  you,  sir,"  an 
swered  Nino,  bowing  once  more,  and  looking  very 
grave,  "  is  that  I  again  most  respectfully  ask  you  to 
give  me  the  hand  of  your  daughter,  the  Signorina 
Hedwig  von  Lira." 

The  hot  blood  flushed  the  old  soldier's  hard  fea 
tures  to  the  roots  of  his  grey  hair,  and  his  voice 
trembled  as  he  answered :  — 

"Do  you  intend  to  insult  me,  sir?  If  so,  this 
quiet  road  is  a  favourable  spot  for  settling  the  ques 
tion.  It  shall  never  be  said  that  an  officer  in  the 
service  of  his  majesty  the  King  and  Emperor  refused 
to  fight  with  any  one,  —  with  his  tailor,  if  need  be." 


258  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

He  reined  his  horse  from  Nino's  side,  and  eyed  him 
fiercely. 

44  Signor  Conte,"  answered  Nino  calmly,  "  nothing 
could  be  further  from  my  thoughts  than  to  insult 
you,  or  to  treat  you  in  any  way  with  disrespect. 
And  I  will  not  acknowledge  that  anything  you  can 
say  can  convey  an  insult  to  myself."  Lira  smiled 
in  a  sardonic  fashion.  "But,"  added  Nino,  "if  it 
would  give  you  any  pleasure  to  fight,  and  if  you 
have  weapons,  I  shall  be  happy  to  oblige  you.  It 
is  a  quiet  spot,  as  you  say,  and  it  shall  never  be 
said  that  an  Italian  artist  refused  to  fight  a  German 
soldier." 

44 1  have  two  pistols  in  my  holsters,"  said  Lira, 
with  a  smile.  44  The  roads  are  not  safe,  and  I  always 
carry  them." 

44  Then,  sir.  be  good  enough  to  select  one  and  to 
give  me  the  other,  and  we  will  at  once  proceed  to 
business." 

The  count's  manner  changed.     He  looked  grave. 

44 1  have  the  pistols.  Signor  Cardegna,  but  I  do 
not  desire  to  use  them.  Your  readiness  satisfies  me 
that  you  are  in  earnest,  and  we  will  therefore  not 
fight  for  amusement.  I  need  not  defend  myself 
from  any  charge  of  unwillingness,  I  believe,"  he 
added  proudly. 

44  In  that  case,  sir,"  said  Nino,  "  and  since  we  have 
convinced  each  other  that  we  are  serious  and  desire 
to  be  courteous,  let  us  converse  calmly." 

44  Have  you  anything  more  to  say  ? "  asked  the 
count,  once  more  allowing  his  horse  to  pace  along 
the  dusty  road,  while  Nino's  mule  walked  by  his  side. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  259 

"I  have  this  to  say,  Signer  Conte,"  answered 
Nino:  "that  I  shall  not  desist  from  desiring  the 
honour  of  marrying  your  daughter,  if  you  refuse  me 
a  hundred  times.  I  wish  to  put  it  to  you  whether, 
with  youth,  some  talent,  —  I  speak  modestly,  —  and 
the  prospect  of  a  plentiful  income,  I  am  not  as  well 
qualified  to  aspire  to  the  alliance  as  Baron  Benoni, 
who  has  old  age,  much  talent,  an  enormous  fortune, 
and  the  benefit  of  the  Jewish  faith  into  the  bar 
gain." 

The  count  winced  palpably  at  the  mention  of 
Benoni's  religion.  No  people  are  more  insanely 
prejudiced  against  the  Hebrew  race  than  the  Ger 
mans.  They  indeed  maintain  that  they  have  greater  ; 
cause  than  others,  but  it  always  appears  to  me  that 
they  are  unreasonable  about  it.  Benoni  chanced  to 
be  a  Jew,  but  his  peculiarities  would  have  been 
the  same  had  he  been  a  Christian  or  an  American. 
There  is  only  one  Ahasuerus  Benoni  in  the  world. 

"  There  is  no  question  of  Baron  Benoni  here," 
said  the  count  severely,  but  hurriedly.  "Your  ob 
servations  are  beside  the  mark.  The  objections  to 
the  alliance,  as  you  call  it,  are  that  you  are  a  man 
of  the  people,  —  I  do  not  desire  to  offend  you,  —  a 
plebeian,  in  fact ;  you  are  also  a  man  of  uncertain 
fortune,  like  all  singers;  and  lastly,  you  are  an 
artist.  I  trust  you  will  consider  these  points  as  a 
sufficient  reason  for  my  declining  the  honour  you 
propose." 

"I  will  only  say,"  returned  Nino,  "that  I  ven 
ture  to  consider  your  reasons  insufficient,  though  I 
do  not  question  your  decision.  Baron  Benoni  was 


260  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

ennobled  for  a  loan  made  to  a  government  in  diffi 
culties  ;  he  was,  by  his  own  account,  a  shoemaker 
by  early  occupation,  and  a  strolling  musician  —  a 
great  artist,  if  you  like  —  by  the  profession  he 
adopted." 

"I  never  heard  these  facts,"  said  Lira,  "and  I 
suspect  that  you  have  been  misinformed.  But  I 
do  not  wish  to  continue  the  discussion  of  the  sub 
ject." 

Nino  says  that  after  the  incident  of  the  pistols 
the  interview  passed  without  the  slightest  approach 
to  ill-temper  on  either  side.  They  both  felt  that  if 
they  disagreed  they  were  prepared  to  settle  their 
difficulties  then  and  there,  without  any  further  ado. 

"Then,  sir,  before  we  part,  permit  me  to  call 
your  attention  to  a  matter  which  must  be  of  im 
portance  to  you,"  said  Nino.  "I  refer  to  the  hap 
piness  of  the  Signorina  di  Lira.  In  spite  of  your 
refusal  of  my  offer,  you  will  understand  that  the 
welfare  of  that  lady  must  always  be  to  me  of  the 
greatest  importance." 

Lira  bowed  his  head  stiffly,  and  seemed  inclined  to 
speak,  but  changed  his  mind,  and  held  his  tongue,  to 
see  what  Nino  would  say. 

"You  will  comprehend,  I  am  sure,"  continued 
the  latter,  "that  in  the  course  of  those  months, 
during  which  I  was  so  far  honoured  as  to  be  of  ser 
vice  to  the  contessina,  I  had  opportunities  of  observ 
ing  her  remarkably  gifted  intelligence.  I  am  now 
credibly  informed  that  she  is  suffering  from  ill 
health.  I  have  not  seen  her,  nor  made  any  attempt 
to  see  her,  as  you  might  have  supposed,  but  I  have 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  261 

an  acquaintance  in  Fillettino  who  has  seen  her  pass 
his  door  daily.  Allow  me  to  remark  that  a  mind 
of  such  rare  qualities  must  grow  sick  if  driven  to 
feed  upon  itself  in  solitude.  I  would  respectfully 
suggest  that  some  gayer  residence  than  Fillettino 
would  be  a  sovereign  remedy  for  her  illness." 

"  Your  tone  and  manner,"  replied  the  count,  "  for 
bid  my  resenting  your  interference.  I  have  no 
reason  to  doubt  your  affection  for  my  daughter,  but 
I  must  request  you  to  abandon  all  idea  of  changing 
my  designs.  If  I  choose  to  bring  my  daughter  to 
a  true  sense  of  her  position  by  somewhat  rigorous 
methods,  it  is  because  I  am  aware  that  the  frailty 
of  reputation  surpasses  the  frailty  of  woman.  I 
will  say  this  to  your  credit,  sir:  that  if  she  has 
not  disgraced  herself,  it  has  been  in  some  measure 
because  you  wisely  forbore  from  pressing  your  suit 
while  you  were  received  as  an  instructor  beneath 
my  roof.  I  am  only  doing  my  duty  in  trying  to 
make  her  understand  that  her  good  name  has  been 
seriously  exposed,  and  that  the  best  reparation  she 
can  make  lies  in  following  my  wishes,  and  accept 
ing  the  honourable  and  advantageous  marriage  I 
have  provided  for  her.  I  trust  that  this  explana 
tion,  which  I  am  happy  to  say  has  been  conducted 
with  the  strictest  propriety,  may  be  final,  and  that 
you  will  at  once  desist  from  any  further  attempts 
towards  persuading  me  to  consent  to  a  union  I 
Disapprove." 

T-ira  once  more  stopped  his  horse  in  the  road,  and 
>  iang  off  his  hat  bowed  to  Nino. 

"  And  I,  sir,"  said  Nino,  no  less  courteously,  "  am 


262  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

obliged  to  you  for  your  clearly  expressed  answer. 
I  shall  never  cease  to  regret  your  decision,  and  so 
long  as  I  live  I  shall  hope  that  you  may  change  your 
mind.  Good-day,  Signor  Conte,"  and  he  bowed  to 
his  saddle. 

"Good-day,  Signor  Cardegna."  So  they  parted: 
the  count  heading  homeward  toward  Fillettino,  and 
Nino  turning  back  toward  Trevi. 

By  this  manoeuvre  he  conveyed  to  the  count's  mind 
the  impression  that  he  had  been  to  Fillettino  for  the 
day,  and  was  returning  to  Trevi  for  the  evening ;  and 
in  reality  the  success  of  his  enterprise,  since  his  repre 
sentations  had  failed,  must  depend  upon  Hedwig's 
being  comparatively  free  during  the  ensuing  night. 
He  determined  to  wait  by  the  roadside  until  it  should 
be  dark,  allowing  his  mule  to  crop  whatever  poor 
grass  she  could  find  at  this  season,  and  thus  giving 
the  count  time  to  reach  Fillettino,  even  at  the  most 
leisurely  pace. 

He  sat  down  upon  the  root  of  a  tree,  and  allowed 
his  mule  to  graze  at  liberty.  It  was  already  growing 
dark  in  the  valley;  for  between  the  long  speeches 
of  civility  the  two  had  employed  and  the  frequent 
pauses  in  the  interview,  the  meeting  had  lasted  the 
greater  part  of  an  hour. 

Nino  says  that  while  he  waited  he  reviewed  his 
past  life  and  his  present  situation. 

Indeed,  since  he  had  made  his  first  appearance  in 
the  theatre,  three  months  earlier,  events  had  crowded 
thick  and  fast  in  his  life.  The  first  sensation  of  a 
great  public  success  is  strange  to  one  who  has  long 
been  accustomed  to  live  unnoticed  and  unhonoured 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  263 

by  the  world.  It  is  at  first  incomprehensible  that 
one  should  have  suddenly  grown  to  be  an  object  of 
interest  and  curiosity  to  one's  fellow-creatures,  after 
having  been  so  long  a  looker-on.  At  first  a  man 
does  not  realise  that  the  thing  he  has  laboured  over, 
and  studied,  and  worked  on,  can  be  actually  anything 
remarkable.  The  production  of  the  e very-day  task 
has  long  grown  a  habit,  and  the  details  which  the 
artist  grows  to  admire  and  love  so  earnestly  have 
each  brought  with  them  their  own  reward.  Every 
difficulty  vanquished,  every  image  of  beauty  em 
bodied,  every  new  facility  of  skill  acquired,  has  been 
in  itself  a  real  and  enduring  satisfaction  for  its  own 
sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  its  fitness  to  the  whole, — 
the  beautiful  perfect  whole  he  has  conceived. 

But  he  must  necessarily  forget,  if  he  loves  his 
work,  that  those  who  come  after,  and  are  to  see  the 
expression  of  his  thought,  or  hear  the  mastery  of  his 
song,  see  or  hear  it  all  at  once  ;  so  that  the  assemblage 
of  the  lesser  beauties,  over  each  of  which  the  artist 
has  had  great  joy,  must  produce  a  suddenly  multi 
plied  impression  upon  the  understanding  of  the  out 
side  world,  which  sees  first  the  embodiment  of  the 
thought,  and  has  then  the  after-pleasure  of  appre 
ciating  the  details.  The  hearer  is  thrilled  with  a 
sense  of  impassioned  beauty,  which  the  singer  may 
perhaps  feel  when  he  first  conceives  the  interpreta 
tion  of  the  printed  notes,  but  which  goes  ever  farther 
from  him  as  he  strives  to  approach  it  and  realise  it; 
and  so  his  admiration  for  his  own  song  is  lost  in 
dissatisfaction  with  the  failings  which  others  have 
not  time  to  see. 


264  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

Before  he  is  aware  of  the  change,  a  singer  has 
become  famous,  and  all  men  are  striving  for  a  sight 
of  him,  or  a  hearing.  There  are  few  like  Nino, 
whose  head  was  not  turned  at  all  by  the  flattery 
and  the  praise,  being  occupied  with  other  things. 
As  he  sat  by  the  roadside,  he  thought  of  the  many 
nights  when  the  house  rang  with  cheers  and  cries 
and  all  manner  of  applause ;  and  he  remembered 
how,  each  time  he  looked  his  audience  in  the  face, 
he  had  searched  for  the  one  face  of  all  faces  which 
he  cared  to  see,  and  had  searched  in  vain. 

He  seemed  now  to  understand  that  it  was  his 
honest-hearted  love  for  the  fair  northern  girl  that 
had  protected  him  from  caring  for  the  outer  world, 
and  he  now  realised  what  the  outer  world  was.  He 
fancied  to  himself  what  his  first  three  months  of 
brilliant  success  might  have  been,  in  Rome  and  Paris, 
if  he  had  not  been  bound  by  some  strong  tie  of  the 
heart  to  keep  him  serious  and  thoughtful.  He 
thought  of  the  women  who  had  smiled  upon  him, 
and  of  the  invitations  that  had  besieged  him,  and  of 
the  consternation  that  had  manifested  itself  when 
he  declared  his  intention  of  retiring  to  Rome,  after 
his  brilliant  engagement  in  Paris,  without  signing 
any  further  contract. 

Then  came  the  rapid  journey,  the  excitement, 
the  day  in  Rome,  the  difficulties  of  finding  Fillet- 
tino ;  and  at  last  he  was  here,  sitting  by  the  road 
side,  and  waiting  till  it  should  be  time  to  carry  into 
execution  the  bold  scheme  he  had  set  before  him. 
His  conscience  was  at  rest,  for  he  now  felt  that  he 
had  done  all  that  the  most  scrupulous  code  could 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  265 

exact  of  him.  He  had  returned  in  the  midst  of  his 
success  to  make  an  honourable  offer  of  marriage,  and 
he  had  been  refused  —  because  he  was  a  plebeian, 
forsooth.  And  he  knew  also  that  the  woman  he 
loved  was  breaking  her  heart  for  him. 

What  wonder  that  he  set  his  teeth,  and  said  to 
himself  that  she  should  be  his,  at  any  price !  Nino 
has  no  absurd  ideas  about  the  ridicule  which  attaches 
itself  to  loving  a  woman,  and  taking  her  if  necessary. 
He  has  not  been  trained  up  in  the  heart  to  the 
wretched  thing  they  call  society,  which  ruined  me 
long  ago.  What  he  wants  he  asks  for,  like  a  child, 
and  if  it  is  refused,  and  his  good  heart  tells  him 
that  he  has  a  right  to  it,  he  takes  it,  like  a  man,  or 
like  what  a  man  was  in  the  old  time  before  the 
Englishman  discovered  that  he  is  an  ape.  Ah,  my 
learned  colleagues,  we  are  not  so  far  removed  from 
the  ancestral  monkey  but  that  there  is  serious  danger 
of  our  shortly  returning  to  that  primitive  and  caudal 
state !  And  I  think  that  my  boy  and  the  Prussian 
officer,  as  they  sat  on  their  beasts  and  bowed,  and 
smiled,  and  offered  to  fight  each  other,  or  to  shake 
hands,  each  desiring  to  oblige  the  other,  like  a  couple 
of  knights  of  the  old  ages,  were  a  trifle  further 
removed  from  our  common  gorilla  parentage  than 
some  of  us. 

But  it  grew  dark,  and  Nino  caught  his  mule  and 
rode  slowly  back  to  the  town,  wondering  what  would 
happen  before  the  sun  rose  on  the  other  side  of  the 
world.  Now,  lest  you  fail  to  understand  wholly  how 
the  matter  passed,  I  must  tell  you  a  little  of  what 
took  place  during  the  time  while  Nino  was  waiting 


266  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

for  the  count,  and  Hedwig  was  alone  in  the  castle 
with  Baron  Benoni.  The  way  I  came  to  know  is 
this  :  Hedwig  told  the  whole  story  to  Nino,  and  Nino 
told  it  to  me ;  but  many  months  after  that  eventful 
day,  which  I  shall  always  consider  as  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  in  my  life.  It  was  Good  Friday,  last  year, 
and  you  may  find  out  the  day  of  the  month  for  your 
selves. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  267 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

As  Nino  had  guessed,  the  count  was  glad  of  a 
chance  to  leave  his  daughter  alone  with  Benoni,  and 
it  was  for  this  reason  that  he  had  ridden  out  so  early. 
The  baron's  originality  and  extraordinary  musical 
talent  seemed  to  Lira  gifts  which  a  woman  needed 
only  to  perceive  in  order  to  appreciate,  and  which 
might  well  make  her  forget  his  snowy  locks.  During 
the  time  of  Benoni's  visit  the  count  had  not  yet  been 
successful  in  throwing  the  pair  together,  for  Hedwig's 
dislike  for  the  baron  made  her  exert  her  tact  to  the 
utmost  in  avoiding  his  society. 

It  so  happened  that  Hedwig,  rising  early,  and 
breathing  the  sweet,  cool  air  from  the  window  of  her 
chamber,  had  seen  Nino  ride  by  on  his  mule,  when  he 
arrived  in  the  morning.  He  did  not  see  her,  for  the 
street  merely  passed  the  corner  of  the  great  pile,  and 
it  was  only  by  stretching  her  head  far  out  that  Hed 
wig  could  get  a  glimpse  of  it.  But  it  amused  her  to 
watch  the  country  people  going  by,  with  their  mules 
and  donkeys  and  hampers,  or  loads  of  firewood ;  and 
she  would  often  lean  over  the  window-sill  for  half  an 
hour  at  a  time,  gazing  at  the  little  stream  of  moun 
tain  life,  and  sometimes  weaving  romances  about  the 
sturdy  brown  women  and  their  dark-browed  shepherd 
lovers.  Moreover,  she  fully  expected  that  Nino  would 


268  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

arrive  that  day,  and  had  some  faint  hope  of  seeing 
him  go  along  the  road.  So  she  was  rewarded,  and 
the  sight  of  the  man  she  loved  was  the  first  breath  of 
freedom. 

In  a  great  house  like  the  strange  abode  Lira  had 
selected  for  the  seclusion  of  his  daughter,  it  constantly 
occurs  that  one  person  is  in  ignorance  of  the  doings 
of  the  others ;  and  so  it  was  natural  that  when  Hed- 
wig  heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the  courtyard,  and 
the  echoing  crash  of  the  great  doors  as  they  opened 
and  closed,  she  should  think  that  both  her  father  and 
Benoni  had  ridden  away,  to  be  gone  all  the  afternoon. 
She  would  not  look  out,  lest  she  should  see  them  and 
be  seen. 

I  cannot  tell  you  exactly  what  she  felt  when  she 
saw  Nino  from  her  lofty  window,  but  she  was  certainly 
glad  with  her  whole  heart.  If  she  had  not  known  of 
his  coming  from  my  visit  the  previous  evening,  she 
would  perhaps  have  given  way  to  some  passionate 
outburst  of  happiness ;  but  as  it  was,  the  feeling  of 
anticipation,  the  sweet,  false  dawn  of  freedom,  to 
gether  with  the  fact  that  she  was  prepared,  took 
from  this  first  pleasure  all  that  was  overwhelming. 
She  only  felt  that  he  had  come,  and  that  she  should 
soon  be  saved  from  Benoni ;  she  could  not  tell  how, 
but  she  knew  it,  and  smiled  to  herself  for  the  first 
time  in  months,  as  she  held  a  bit  of  jewelry  to  her 
slender  throat,  before  the  glass,  wondering  whether 
she  had  not  grown  too  thin  and  pale  to  please  her 
lover,  who  had  been  courted  by  the  beauties  of  the 
world  since  he  had  left  her. 

She   was  ill,  perhaps,  and  tired.     That  was  why 


A  KOMAN   SINGER.  269 

she  looked  pale ;  but  she  knew  that  the  first  day  of 
freedom  would  make  her  as  beautiful  as  ever.  She 
spent  the  morning  hours  in  her  rooms ;  but  when  she 
heard  the  gates  close,  she  fancied  herself  alone  in  the 
great  house,  and  went  down  into  the  sunny  courtyard, 
to  breathe  the  air,  and  to  give  certain  instructions  to 
her  faithful  man.  She  sent  him  to  my  house,  to  speak 
with  me ;  and  that  was  all  the  message  he  had,  for 
the  present.  However,  he  knew  well  enough  what  he 
was  to  do.  There  was  a  strong  smell  of  bank-notes 
in  the  air,  and  the  man  kept  his  nose  up. 

Having  dispatched  this  important  business,  Hed- 
wig  set  herself  to  walk  up  and  down  the  paved  quad 
rangle,  on  the  sunny  side.  There  was  a  stone  bench 
in  a  warm  corner,  which  looked  inviting.  She  entered 
the  house,  and  brought  out  a  book,  with  which  she 
established  herself  to  read.  She  had  often  longed  to 
sit  there  in  the  afternoon  and  watch  the  sun  creeping 
across  the  flags,  pursued  by  the  shadow,  till  each  small 
bit  of  moss  and  blade  of  grass  had  received  its  daily 
portion  of  warmth.  For  though  the  place  had  been 
cleared  and  weeded,  the  tiny  green  things  still  grew 
in  the  chinks  of  the  pavement.  In  the  middle  of 
the  court  was  a  well,  with  a  cover  and  yoke  of  old- 
fashioned  twisted  iron,  and  a  pulley  to  draw  the 
water.  The  air  was  bright  and  fresh  outside  the 
castle,  but  the  reverberating  rays  of  the  sun  made 
the  quiet  courtyard  warm  and  still. 

Sick  with  her  daily  torture  of  mind,  the  fair, 
pale  girl  rested  here  at  last,  and,  dreaming  of  liberty, 
drew  strength  from  the  soft  stillness.  The  book  fell 
on  her  lap,  her  head  leaned  back  against  the  rough 


270  A   KOMAN   SINGER. 

stones  of  the  wall,  and  gradually,  as  she  watched  from 
beneath  her  half-closed  lids  the  play  of  the  stealing 
sunlight,  she  fell  into  a  sweet  sleep. 

She  was  soon  disturbed  by  that  indescribable  un 
easiness  that  creeps  through  our  dreams  when  we  are 
asleep  in  the  presence  of  danger.  A  weird  horror 
possesses  us,  and  makes  the  objects  in  the  dream 
appear  unnatural.  Gradually  the  terror  grows  on  us 
and  thrills  us,  and  we  wake,  with  bristling  hair  and 
staring  eyes,  to  the  hideous  consciousness  of  unex 
pected  peril. 

Hedwig  started  and  raised  her  lids,  following  the 
direction  of  her  dream.  She  was  not  mistaken.  Op 
posite  her  stood  her  arch-horror,  Benoni.  He  leaned 
carelessly  against  the  stone  well,  and  his  bright  brown 
eyes  were  riveted  upon  her.  His  tall,  thin  figure  was 
clad,  as  usual,  in  the  extreme  of  all  fashion,  and  one 
of  his  long,  bony  hands  toyed  with  his  watch-chain. 
His  animated  face  seemed  aglow  with  the  pleasure  of 
contemplation,  and  the  sunshine  lent  a  yellow  tinge 
to  his  snowy  hair. 

"  An  exquisite  picture,  indeed,  countess,"  he  said, 
without  moving.  "  I  trust  your  dreams  were  as  sweet 
as  they  looked?" 

"  They  were  sweet,  sir,"  she  answered  coldly,  after 
a  moment's  pause,  during  which  she  looked  steadily 
toward  him. 

"  I  regret  that  I  should  have  disturbed  them,"  he 
said  with  a  deferential  bow ;  and  he  came  and  sat  by 
her  side,  treading  as  lightly  as  a  boy  across  the  flags. 
Hedwig  shuddered,  and  drew  her  dark  skirts  about 
her,  as  he  sat  down. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  271 

"  You  cannot  regret  it  more  than  I  do,"  she  said,  in 
tones  of  ice.  She  would  not  take  refuge  in  the  house, 
for  it  would  have  seemed  like  an  ignominious  flight. 
Benoni  crossed  one  leg  over  the  other,  and  asked  per 
mission  to  smoke,  which  she  granted  by  an  indifferent 
motion  of  her  fair  head. 

"So  we  are  left  all  alone  to-day,  countess,"  re 
marked  Benoni,  blowing  rings  of  smoke  upon  the 
quiet  air. 

Hedwig  vouchsafed  no  answer. 

"  We  are  left  alone,"  he  repeated,  seeing  that  she 
was  silent,  "  and  I  make  it  hereby  my  business  and  my 
pleasure  to  amuse  you." 

"  You  are  good,  sir.  But  I  thank  you.  I  need  no 
entertainment  of  your  devising." 

"That  is  eminently  unfortunate,"  returned  the 
baron,  with  his  imperturbable  smile,  "  for  I  am  univer 
sally  considered  to  be  the  most  amusing  of  mortals, 
—  if,  indeed,  I  am  mortal  at  all,  which  I  sometimes 
doubt." 

"Do  you  reckon  yourself  with  the  gods,  then?" 
asked  Hedwig  scornfully.  "  Which  of  them  are  you  ? 
Jove  ?  Dionysus  ?  Apollo  ?  " 

"  Nay,  rather  Phaethon,  who  soared  too  high  "  — 

"  Your  mythology  is  at  fault,  sir,  —  he  drove  too 
low;  and  besides,  he  was  not  immortal." 

"It  is  the  same.  He  was  wide  of  the  mark,  as 
I  am.  Tell  me,  countess,  are  your  wits  always  so 
ready  ?  " 

"  You,  at  least,  will  always  find  them  so,"  she  an 
swered  bitterly. 

"  You  are  unkind.  You  stab  my  vanity,  as  you 
have  pierced  my  heart." 


272  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

At  this  speech,  Hedwig  raised  her  eyebrows,  and 
stared  at  him  in  silence.  Any  other  man  would  have 
taken  the  chilling  rebuke,  and  left  her.  Benoni  put 
on  a  sad  expression. 

"You  used  not  to  hate  me  as  you  do  now,"  he 
said. 

"  That  is  true.  I  hated  you  formerly  because  I 
hated  you." 

"  And  now  ?  "  asked  Benoni,  with  a  short  laugh. 

"  I  hate  you  now  because  I  loathe  you."  She  ut 
tered  this  singular  saying  indifferently,  as  being  part 
of  her  daily  thoughts. 

"  You  have  the  courage  of  your  opinions,  countess," 
he  replied,  with  a  very  bitter  smile. 

"Yes?  It  is  the  only  courage  a  woman  need 
have." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Benoni  puffed 
much  smoke  and  stroked  his  white  moustache.  Hed 
wig  turned  over  the  leaves  of  her  book,  as  though 
hinting  to  him  to  go.  But  he  had  no  idea  of  that. 
A  man  who  will  not  go  because  a  woman  loathes  him 
will  certainly  not  leave  her  for  a  hint. 

"  Countess,"  he  began  again,  at  last,  "  will  you 
listen  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  must.  I  presume  my  father  has  left 
you  here  to  insult  me  at  your  noble  leisure." 

"  Ah,  countess,  dear  countess,"  —  she  shrank  away 
from  him,  — "  you  should  know  me  better  than  to 
believe  me  capable  of  anything  so  monstrous.  I 
insult  you?  Gracious  Heaven!  I,  who  adore  you; 
who  worship  the  holy  ground  whereon  you  tread; 
who  would  preserve  the  precious  air  you  have 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  273 

breathed,  in  vessels  of  virgin  crystal;  who  would 
give  a  drop  of  my  blood  for  every  word  you  vouch 
safe  me,  kind  or  cruel,  —  I,  who  look  on  you  as  the 
only  divinity  in  this  desolate  heathen  world,  who 
reverence  you  and  do  you  daily  homage,  who  adore 
you"  — 

"  You  manifest  your  adoration  in  a  singular  man 
ner,  sir,"  said  Hedwig,  interrupting  him  with  some- 
thing  of  her  father's  severity. 

"  I  show  it  as  best  I  can,"  the  old  scoundrel  pleaded, 
working  himself  into  a  passion  of  words.  "  My  life, 
my  fortune,  my  name,  my  honour,  —  I  cast  them  at 
your  feet.  For  you  I  will  be  a  hermit,  a  saint,  dwell 
ing  in  solitary  places  and  doing  good  works ;  or  I  will 
brave  every  danger  the  narrow  earth  holds,  by  sea 
and  land,  for  you.  What?  Am  I  decrepit,  or  bent, 
or  misshapen,  that  my  white  hair  should  cry  out 
against  me?  Am  I  hideous,  or  doting,  or  half-witted, 
as  old  men  are  ?  I  am  young ;  I  am  strong,  active, 
enduring.  I  have  all  the  gifts,  for  you." 

The  baron  was  speaking  French,  and  perhaps  these 
wild  praises  of  himself  might  pass  current  in  a  for 
eign  language.  But  when  Nino  detailed  the  conver 
sation  to  me  in  our  good,  simple  Italian  speech,  it 
sounded  so  amazingly  ridiculous  that  I  nearly  broke 
my  sides  with  laughing. 

Hedwig  laughed  also,  and  so  loudly  that  the  foolish 
old  man  was  disconcerted.  He  had  succeeded  in 
amusing  her  sooner  than  he  had  expected.  As  I 
have  told  you,  the  baron  is  a  most  impulsive  person, 
though  he  is  poisoned  with  evil  from  his  head  to  his 
heart. 


274  A   KOMAN   SINGER. 

"All  women  are  alike,"  he  said,  and  his  manner 
suddenly  changed. 

"  I  fancy,"  said  Hedwig,  recovering  from  her  mer 
riment,  "  that  if  you  address  them  as  you  have 
addressed  me  you  will  find  them  very  much  alike 
indeed." 

"  What  good  can  women  do  in  the  world  ? " 
sighed  Benoni,  as  though  speaking  with  himself. 
"  You  do  nothing  but  harm  with  your  cold  calcula 
tions  and  your  bitter  jests."  Hedwig  was  silent. 
"Tell  me,"  he  continued  presently,  "if  I  speak 
soberly,  by  the  card  as  it  were,  will  you  listen  to 
me?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  said  that  I  will  listen  to  you  I "  cried 
Hedwig,  losing  patience. 

"  Hedwig  von  Lira,  I  hereby  offer  you  my  fortune, 
my  name,  and  myself.  I  ask  you  to  marry  me  of 
your  own  good-will  and  pleasure."  Hedwig  once 
more  raised  her  brows. 

"  Baron  Benoni,  I  will  not  marry  you,  for  your 
fortune,  your  name,  nor  yourself,  —  nor  for  any  other 
consideration  under  heaven.  And  I  will  ask  you  not 
to  address  me  by  my  Christian  name." 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  this  speech,  and 
Benoni  carefully  lighted  a  second  cigarette.  Hedwig 
would  have  risen  and  entered  the  house,  but  she  felt 
safer  in  the  free  air  of  the  sunny  court.  As  for  Be 
noni,  he  had  no  intention  of  going. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  aware,  countess,"  he  said  at 
last,  coldly  eyeing  her,  "  that  your  father  has  set  his 
heart  upon  our  union  ?  " 

"  I  am  aware  of  it." 


A   liOMAN   SINGER.  275 

"  But  you  are  not  aware  of  the  consequences  of 
your  refusal.  I  am  your  only  chance  of  freedom. 
Take  me,  and  you  have  the  world  at  your  feet.  Re 
fuse  me,  and  you  will  languish  in  this  hideous  place 
so  long  as  your  affectionate  father  pleases." 

"  Do  you  know  my  father  so  little,  sir,"  asked 
Hedwig  very  proudly,  "  as  to  suppose  that  his 
daughter  will  ever  yield  to  force  ?  " 

"  It  is  one  thing  to  talk  of  not  yielding,  and  it  is 
quite  another  to  bear  prolonged  suffering  with  con 
stancy,"  returned  Benoni  coolly,  as  though  he  were 
discussing  a  general  principle  instead  of  expounding 
to  a  woman  the  fate  she  had  to  expect  if  she  refused 
to  .marry  him.  "  I  never  knew  any  one  who  did  not 
talk  bravely  of  resisting  torture  until  it  was  applied. 
Oh,  you  will  be  weak  at  the  end,  countess,  believe 
me.  You  are  weak  now,  and  changed,  though  per 
haps  you  would  be  better  pleased  if  I  did  not  notice 
it.  Yes,  I  smile  now,  —  I  laugh.  I  can  afford  to. 
You  can  be  merry  over  me  because  I  love  you,  but 
I  can  be  merry  at  what  you  must  suffer  if  you  will 
not  love  me.  Do  not  look  so  proud,  countess.  You 
know  what  follows  pride,  if  the  proverb  lies  not." 

During  this  insulting  speech  Hedwig  had  risen  to 
her  feet,  and  in  the  act  to  go  she  turned  and  looked 
at  him  in  utter  scorn.  She  could  not  comprehend 
the  nature  of  a  man  who  could  so  coldly  threaten 
her.  If  ever  any  one  of  us  can  fathom  Benoni's 
strange  character,  we  may  hope  to  understand  that 
phase  of  it  along  with  the  rest.  He  seemed  as 
indifferent  to  his  own  mistakes  and  follies  as  to  the 
sufferings  of  others. 


276  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"Sir,"  she  said,  "whatever  may  be  the  will  of 
my  father,  I  will  not  permit  you  to  discuss  it,  still 
less  to  hold  up  his  anger  as  a  threat  to  scare  me. 
You  need  not  follow  me."  she  added,  as  he  rose. 

"I  will  follow  you,  whether  you  wish  it  or  not, 
countess,"  he  said  fiercely;  and  as  she  fled  across 
the  court  to  the  door  he  strode  swiftly  by  her  side, 
hissing  his  words  into  her  ear.  "  I  will  follow  you 
to  tell  you  that  I  know  more  of  you  than  you  think, 
and  I  know  how  little  right  you  have  to  be  so  proud. 
I  know  your  lover.  I  know  of  your  meetings,  your 
comings  and  your  goings "  —  They  reached  the 
door,  but  Benoni  barred  the  way  with  his  long  arm, 
and  seemed  about  to  lay  a  hand  upon  her  wrist,  so 
that  she  shrank  back  against  the  heavy  doorpost,  in 
an  agony  of  horror  and  loathing  and  wounded  pride. 
"  I  know  Cardegna,  and  I  knew  the  poor  baroness, 
who  killed  herself  because  he  basely  abandoned  her. 
Ah,  you  never  heard  the  truth  before  ?  I  trust  it  is 
pleasant  to  you.  As  he  left  her,  he  has  left  you. 
He  will  never  come  back.  I  saw  him  in  Paris  three 
weeks  ago.  I  could  tell  tales  not  fit  for  your  ears. 
And  for  him  you  will  die  in  this  horrible  place, 
unless  you  consent.  For  him  you  have  thrown  away 
everything,  —  name,  fame,  and  happiness,  —  unless 
you  will  take  all  these  from  me.  Oh,  I  know, — you 
will  cry  out  that  it  is  untrue  ;  but  my  eyes  are  good, 
though  you  call  me  old !  For  this  treacherous  boy, 
with  his  curly  hair,  you  have  lost  the  only  thing  that 
makes  woman  human, — your  reputation  !  " 

Benoni  laughed  that  horrid  laugh  of  his,  till  the 
court  rang  again,  as  though  there  were  devils  in  every 
corner  and  beneath  every  eave,  and  everywhere. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  277 

People  who  are  loud  in  their  anger  are  sometimes 
dangerous,  for  it  is  genuine  while  it  lasts.  People 
whose  anger  is  silent  are  generally  either  incapable 
of  honest  wrath  or  cowards.  But  there  are  some  in 
the  world  whose  passion  shows  itself  in  few  words 
but  strong  ones,  and  proceeds  instantly  to  action. 

Hedwig  had  stood  back  against  the  stone  casing 
of  the  entrance,  at  first,  overcome  with  the  intensity 
of  what  she  suffered.  But  as  Benoni  laughed  she 
moved  slowly  forwards  till  she  was  close  to  him, 
and  only  his  outstretched  arm  barred  the  doorway. 

"Every  word  you  have  spoken  is  a  lie,  and  you 
know  it.  Let  me  pass,  or  I  will  kill  you  with  my 
hands!" 

The  words  came  low  and  distinct  to  his  excited  ear, 
like  the  tolling  of  a  passing  bell.  Her  face  must  have 
been  dreadful  to  see,  and  Benoni  was  suddenly  fasci 
nated  and  terrified  at  the  concentrated  anger  that 
blazed  in  her  blue  eyes.  His  arm  dropped  to  his  side, 
and  Hedwig  passed  proudly  through  the  door,  in  all 
the  majesty  of  innocence,  gathering  her  skirts,  lest 
they  should  touch  his  feet  or  any  part  of  him.  She 
never  hastened  her  step  as  she  ascended  the  broad 
stairs  within  and  went  to  her  own  little  sitting-room, 
made  gay  with  books  and  flowers  and  photographs 
from  Rome.  Nor  was  her  anger  followed  by  any  pas 
sionate  outburst  of  tears.  She  sat  herself  down  by 
the  window  and  looked  out,  letting  the  cool  breeze 
from  the  open  casement  fan  her  face. 

Hedwig,  too,  had  passed  through  a  violent  scene 
that  day,  and,  having  conquered,  she  sat  down  to 
think  over  it.  She  reflected  that  Benoni  had  but 


278  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

used  the  same  words  to  her  which  she  had  daily  heard 
from  her  father's  lips.  False  as  was  their  accusation, 
she  submitted  to  hearing  her  father  speak  them,  for 
she  had  no  knowledge  of  their  import,  and  only 
thought  him  cruelly  hard  with  her.  But  that  a 
stranger  —  above  all,  a  man  who  aspired,  or  pretended 
to  aspire,  to  her  hand  —  should  attempt  to  usurp  the 
same  authority  of  speech  was  beyond  all  human  endur 
ance.  She  felt  sure  that  her  father's  anger  would  all 
be  turned  against  Benoni  when  he  heard  her  story. 

As  for  what  her  tormentor  had  said  of  Nino,  she 
could  have  killed  him  for  saying  it,  but  she  knew 
that  it  was  a  lie ;  for  she  loved  Nino  with  all  her  heart, 
and  no  one  can  love  wholly  without  trusting  wholly. 
Therefore  she  put  away  the  evil  suggestion  from 
herself,  and  loaded  Benoni  with  all  its  burden  of 
treachery. 

How  long  she  sat  by  the  window,  compelling  her 
strained  thoughts  into  order,  no  one  can  tell.  It 
might  have  been  an  hour,  or  more,  for  she  had  lost 
the  account  of  the  hours.  She  was  roused  by  a  knock 
at  the  door  of  her  sitting-room,  and  at  her  bidding  the 
man  entered  who,  for  the  trifling  consideration  of 
about  a  thousand  francs,  first  and  last,  made  com 
munication  possible  between  Hedwig  and  myself. 

This  man's  name  is  Temistocle,  —  Themistocles,  no 
less.  All  servants  are  Themistocles,  or  Orestes,  or 
Joseph,  just  as  all  gardeners  are  called  Antonio. 
Perhaps  he  deserves  some  description.  He  is  a  type, 
short,  wiry,  and  broad-shouldered,  with  a  cunning  eye, 
a  long,  hooked  nose,  and  plentiful  black  whiskers,  and 
coarse,  closely  cropped  black  hair.  His  motions  are 


A   ROMAN    SINGER.  279 

servile  to  the  last  degree,  and  he  addresses  every  one 
in  authority  as  "  excellency,"  on  the  principle  that  it 
is  better  to  give  too  much  titular  homage  than  too 
little.  He  is  as  wily  as  a  fox,  and  so  long  as  you  have 
money  in  your  pocket,  as  faithful  as  a  hound  and  as 
silent  as  the  grave.  I  perceive  that  these  are  pre 
cisely  the  epithets  at  which  the  baron  scoffed,  say 
ing  that  a  man  can  be  praised  only  by  comparing  him 
with  the  higher  animals,  or  insulted  by  comparison 
with  himself  and  his  kind.  We  call  a  man  a  fool,  an 
idiot,  a  coward,  a  liar,  a  traitor,  and  many  other 
things  applicable  only  to  man  himself.  However,  I 
will  let  my  description  stand,  for  it  is  a  very  good 
one  ;  arid  Temistocle  could  be  induced,  for  money, 
to  adapt  himself  to  almost  any  description,  and  he 
certainly  had  earned,  at  one  time  or  another,  most  of 
the  titles  I  have  enumerated. 

He  told  me,  months  afterwards,  that  when  he 
passed  through  the  courtyard,  on  his  way  to  Hed- 
wig's  apartment,  he  found  Benoni  seated  on  the  stone 
bench,  smoking  a  cigarette  and  gazing  into  space, 
so  that  he  passed  close  before  him  without  being 
noticed. 


280  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

TEMISTOCLE  closed  the  door,  then  opened  it  again, 
and  looked  out,  after  which  he  finally  shut  it,  and 
seemed  satisfied.  He  advanced  with  cautious  tread 
to  the  window  where  Hedwig  sat. 

"Well?  What  have  you  done?"  she  inquired, 
without  looking  at  him.  It  is  a  hard  thing  for  a 
proud  and  noble  girl  to  be  in  the  power  of  a  servant. 
The  man  took  Nino's  letter  from  his  pocket,  and 
handed  it  to  her  upon  his  open  palm.  Hedwig  tried 
hard  to  take  it  with  indifference,  but  she  acknowl 
edges  that  her  fingers  trembled  and  her  heart  beat 
fast. 

"I  was  to  deliver  a  message  to  your  excellency, 
from  the  old  gentleman,"  said  Temistocle,  coming 
close  to  her  and  bending  down. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Hedwig,  opening  the  envelope. 

"Yes,  excellency.  He  desired  me  to  say  that  it 
was  absolutely  and  most  indubitably  necessary  that 
your  excellency  should  be  at  the  little  door  to-night 
at  twelve  o'clock.  Do  not  fear,  Signora  Contessina ; 
we  can  manage  it  very  well." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  know  what  you  advise  me  to 
fear,  or  not  to  fear,"  answered  Hedwig,  haughtily ; 
for  she  could  not  bear  to  feel  that  the  man  should 
counsel  her  or  encourage  her. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  281 

"Pardon,  excellency  ;  I  thought"  —  began  Temis- 
tocle  humbly ;  but  Hedwig  interrupted  him. 

" Temistocle,"  she  said,  "I  have  no  money  to  give 
you,  as  I  told  you  yesterday.  But  here  is  another 
stone,  like  the  first.  Take  it,  and  arrange  this 
matter  as  best  you  can." 

Temistocle  took  the  jewel  and  bowed  to  the  ground, 
eyeing  curiously  the  little  case  from  which  she  had 
taken  it. 

"I  have  thought  and  combined  everything,"  he 
said.  "  Your  excellency  will  see  that  it  is  best  you 
should  go  alone  to  the  staircase;  for,  as  we  say,  a 
mouse  makes  less  noise  than  a  rat.  When  you  have 
descended,  lock  the  door  at  the  top  behind  you; 
and  when  you  reach  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  keep 
that  door  open.  I  shall  have  brought  the  old  gentle 
man,  by  that  time,  and  you  will  let  me  in.  I  shall 
go  out  by  the  great  gate." 

"Why  not  go  with  me?"  inquired  Hedwig. 

"Because,  your  excellency,  one  person  is  less 
likely  to  be  seen  than  two.  Your  excellency  will 
let  me  pass  you.  I  will  mount  the  staircase,  unlock 
the  upper  door,  and  change  the  key  to  the  other 
side.  Then  I  shall  watch,  and  if  any  one  comes  I 
will  lock  the  door  and  slip  away  till  he  is  gone." 

"I  do  not  like  the  plan,"  said  Hedwig.  "I  would 
rather  let  myself  in  from  the  staircase." 

"But  suppose  any  one  were  waiting  on  the  inside, 
and  saw  you  come  back?" 

"That  is  true.  Give  me  the  keys,  Temistocle, 
and  a  taper  and  some  matches." 

"Your  excellency  is  a  paragon  of  courage,"  replied 


282  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

the  servant,  obsequiously.  "Since  yesterday  I  have 
carried  the  keys  in  my  pocket.  I  will  bring  you  the 
taper  this  evening." 

"  Bring  it  now.     I  wish  to  be  ready." 

Temistocle  departed  on  the  errand.  When  he 
returned,  Hedwig  ordered  him  to  give  a  message  to 
her  father. 

"When  the  count  comes  home,  ask  him  to  see 
me,"  she  said.  Temistocle  bowed  once  more,  and 
was  gone. 

Yes,  she  would  see  her  father,  and  tell  him  plainly 
what  she  had  suffered  from  Benoni.  She  felt  that 
no  father,  however  cruel,  would  allow  his  daughter 
to  be  so  treated,  and  she  would  detail  the  conversa 
tion  to  him. 

She  had  not  been  able  to  read  Nino's  letter,  for 
she  feared  the  servant,  knowing  the  writing  to  be 
Italian  and  legible  to  him.  Now  she  hastened  to 
drink  in  its  message  of  love.  You  cannot  suppose 
that  I  know  exactly  what  he  said,  but  he  certainly 
set  forth  at  some  length  his  proposal  that  she  should 
leave  her  father,  and  escape  with  her  lover  from  the 
bondage  in  which  she  was  now  held.  He  told  her 
modestly  of  his  success,  in  so  far  as  it  was  necessary 
that  she  should  understand  his  position.  It  must 
have  been  a  very  eloquent  letter,  for  it  nearly  per 
suaded  her  to  a  step  of  which  she  had  wildly  dreamed, 
indeed,  but  which  in  her  calmer  moments  she  re 
garded  as  impossible. 

The  interminable  afternoon  was  drawing  to  a 
close,  and  once  more  she  sat  by  the  open  window, 
regardless  of  the  increasing  cold.  Suddenly  it  all 


A   KOMAN   SINGER.  283 

carne  over  her,  —  the  tremendous  importance  of  the 
step,  if  she  should  take  Nino  at  his  word,  and  really 
break  from  one  life  into  another.  The  long-restrained 
tears,  that  had  been  bound  from  flowing  through  all 
Benoni's  insults  and  her  own  anger,  trickled  silently 
down  her  cheek,  no  longer  pale,  but  bright  and  flushed 
at  the  daring  thought  of  freedom. 

At  first  it  seemed  far  off,  as  seen  in  a  magician's 
glass.  She  looked,  and  saw  herself  as  another  per 
son,  acting  a  part  only  half  known  and  half  under 
stood.  But  gradually  her  own  individual  soul  entered 
into  the  figure  of  her  imagination;  her  eager  heart 
beat  fast ;  she  breathed  and  moved  and  acted  in  the 
future.  She  was  descending  the  dark  steps  alone, 
listening  with  supernatural  perception  of  sound  for 
her  lover's  tread  without.  It  came  ;  the  door  opened, 
and  she  was  in  his  arms,  —  in  those  strong  arms  that 
could  protect  her  from  insult  and  tyranny  and  cruel 
wooing ;  out  in  the  night,  on  the  road,  in  Rome, 
married,  free  and  made  blessed  for  ever.  On  a  sudden 
the  artificial  imagery  of  her  labouring  brain  fell  away, 
and  the  thought  crossed  her  mind  that  henceforth  she 
must  be  an  orphan.  Her  father  would  never  speak  to 
her  again,  nor  ever  own  for  his  a  daughter  that  had 
done  such  a  deed.  Like  icy  water  poured  upon  a 
fevered  body,  the  idea  chilled  her  and  woke  her  to 
reality. 

Did  she  love  her  father?  She  had  loved  him, — 
yes,  until  she  crossed  his  will.  She  loved  him  still, 
since  she  could  be  so  horror-struck  at  the  thought 
of  incurring  his  lasting  anger.  Could  she  bear  it  ? 
Could  she  find  in  her  lover  all  that  she  must  re- 


284  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

nounce  of  a  father's  care  and  a  father's  affection,  — 
stern  affection,  that  savoured  of  the  despot,  —  but 
could  she  hurt  him  so  ? 

The  image  of  her  father  seemed  to  take  another 
shape,  and  gradually  to  assume  the  form  and  fea 
tures  of  the  one  man  of  the  world  whom  she  hated, 
converting  itself  little  by  little  into  Benoiii.  She  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands,  and  terror  staunched  the  tears 
that  had  flown  afresh  at  the  thought  of  orphanhood. 

A  knock  at  the  door.  She  hastily  concealed  the 
crumpled  letter. 

"  Come  in  !  "  she  answered  boldly ;  and  her  father, 
moving  mechanically,  with  his  stick  in  his  hand, 
entered  the  room.  He  came  as  he  had  dismounted 
from  his  horse,  in  his  riding  boots,  and  his  broad  felt 
hat  caught  by  the  same  fingers  that  held  the  stick. 

"  You  wished  to  see  me,  Hedwig,"  he  said  coldly, 
depositing  his  hat  upon  the  table.  Then,  when  he 
had  slowly  sat  himself  down  in  an  armchair,  he 
added,  "  Here  I  am."  Hedwig  had  risen  respect 
fully,  and  stood  before  him  in  the  twilight.  "  What 
do  you  wish  to  say?"  he  asked  in  German.  "You 
do  not  often  honour  your  father  by  requesting  his 
society." 

Hedwig  stood  one  moment  in  silence.  Her  first 
impulse  was  to  throw  herself  at  his  feet,  and  implore 
him  to  let  her  marry  Nino.  The  thought  swept  away 
for  the  time  the  remembrance  of  Benoni  and  of  what 
she  had  to  tell.  But  a  second  sufficed  to  give  her  the 
mastery  of  her  tongue  and  memory,  which  women 
seldom  lose  completely,  even  at  the  most  desperate 
moments. 


A  ROMAN   SINGEft.  285 

"  I  desired  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  "  that  Baron 
Benoni  took  advantage  of  your  absence  to-day  to 
insult  me  beyond  my  endurance."  She  looked  boldly 
into  her  father's  eyes  as  she  spoke. 

"  Ah ! "  said  he,  with  great  coolness.  "  Will  you 
be  good  enough  to  light  one  of  those  candles  on  the 
table,  and  to  close  the  window  ?  " 

Hedwig  obeyed  in  silence,  and  once  more  planted 
herself  before  him,  her  slim  figure  looking  ghostly 
between  the  fading  light  of  the  departing  day  and 
the  yellow  flame  of  the  candle. 

"You  need  not  assume  this  theatrical  air,"  said 
Lira  calmly.  "I  presume  you  mean  that  Baron 
Benoni  asked  you  to  marry  him?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  one  thing,  and  is  an  insult  in  itself," 
replied  Hedwig,  without  changing  her  position. 

"  I  suspect  that  it  is  the  principal  thing,"  remarked 
the  count.  "  Very  good ;  he  asked  you  to  marry 
him.  He  has  my  full  authority  to  do  so.  What 
then?" 

"  You  are  my  father,"  answered  Hedwig,  standing 
like  a  statue  before  him,  "  and  you  have  the  right  to 
offer  me  whom  you  please  for  a  husband.  But  you 
have  no  authority  to  allow  me  to  be  wantonly 
insulted." 

"I  think  that  you  are  out  of  your  mind,"  said 
the  count,  with  imperturbable  equanimity.  "  You 
grant  that  I  may  propose  a  suitor  to  you,  and  you 
call  it  a  wanton  insult  when  that  suitor  respectfully 
asks  the  honour  of  your  hand,  merely  because  he  is 
not  young  enough  to  suit  your  romantic  tastes,  which 
have  been  fostered  by  this  wretched  southern  air. 


286  A  KOMAN   SINGER. 

It  is  unfortunate  that  my  health  requires  me  to  re 
side  in  Italy.  Had  you  enjoyed  an  orderly  Prussian 
education,  you  would  have  held  different  views  in 
regard  to  filial  duty.  Refuse  Baron  Benoiii  as  often 
as  you  like.  I  will  stay  here,  and  so  will  he,  I  fancy, 
until  you  change  your  mind.  I  am  not  tired  of  this 
lordly  mountain  scenery,  and  my  health  improves 
daily.  We  can  pass  the  summer  and  winter,  and 
more  summers  and  winters,  very  comfortably  here. 
If  there  is  anything  you  would  like  to  have  brought 
from  Rome,  inform  me,  arid  I  will  satisfy  any  reason 
able  request." 

"  The  baron  has  already  had  the  audacity  to  inform 
me  that  you  would  keep  me  a  prisoner  until  I  should 
marry  him,"  said  Hedwig;  <*nd  her  voice  trembled 
as  she  remembered  how  Benoni  had  told  her  so. 

"  I  doubt  not  that  Benoni,  who  is  a  man  of  con 
summate  tact,  hinted  delicately  that  he  would  not 
desist  from  pressing  his  suit.  You,  well  knowing 
my  determination,  and  carried  away  by  your  evil 
temper,  have  magnified  into  a  threat  what  he  never 
intended  as  such.  Pray  let  me  hear  no  more  about 
these  fancied  insults."  The  old  man  smiled  grimly 
at  his  keen  perception. 

"  You  shall  hear  me,  nevertheless,"  said  Hedwig  in 
a  low  voice,  coming  close  to  the  table,  and  resting 
one  hand  upon  it  as  though  for  support. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  the  count,  "  I  desire  you  to 
abandon  this  highly  theatrical  and  melodramatic  tone. 
I  am  not  to  be  imposed  upon." 

"Baron  Benoni  did  not  confine  himself  to  the 
course  you  describe.  He  said  many  things  to  me 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  287 

which  I  did  not  understand,  but  I  comprehended 
their  import.  He  began  by  making  absurd  speeches, 
at  which  I  laughed.  Then  he  asked  me  to  marry 
him,  as  I  had  long  known  he  would  do  as  soon  as 
you  gave  him  the  opportunity.  I  refused  his  offer. 
Then  he  insisted,  saying  that  you,  sir,  had  determined 
on  this  marriage,  and  would  keep  me  a  close  prisoner 
here  until  the  torture  of  the  situation  broke  down  my 
strength.  I  assured  him  that  I  would  never  yield  to 
force.  Then  he  broke  out  angrily,  telling  me  to  my 
face  that  I  had  lost  everything,  —  name,  fame,  and 
honour,  —  how,  I  cannot  tell ;  but  he  said  those  words, 
adding  that  I  could  regain  my  reputation  only  by 
consenting  to  marry  him." 

The  old  count  had  listened  at  first  with  a  sarcastic 
smile,  then  with  increased  attention.  Finally,  as 
Hedwig  repeated  the  shameful  insult,  his  brave  old 
blood  boiled  up  in  his  breast,  and  he  sat  gripping  the 
two  arms  of  his  chair  fiercely,  while  his  grey  eyes 
shot  fire  from  beneath  the  shaggy  brows. 

"Hedwig,"  he  cried  hoarsely,  'are  you  speaking 
the  truth  ?  Did  he  say  those  words  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  father,  and  more  like  them.  Are  you 
surprised?''  she  asked  bitterly.  "You  have  said 
them  yourself  to  me." 

The  old  man's  rage  rose  furiously,  and  he  struggled 
to  his  feet.  He  was  stiff  with  riding  and  rheuma 
tism,  but  he  was  too  angry  to  sit  still. 

"  I  ?  Yes,  I  have  tried  to  show  you  what  might 
have  happened,  and  to  warn  you  and  frighten  you, 
as  you  should  be  frightened.  Yes,  and  I  was  right, 
for  you  shall  not  drag  my  name  in  the  dirt.  But 
another  man,  —  Benoni  1 " 


288  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

He  could  not  speak,  for  his  wrath,  and  his  tall 
figure  moved  rapidly  about  the  room,  his  heart  seek 
ing  expression  in  action.  He  looked  like  some  for 
gotten  creature  of  harm,  suddenly  galvanised  into 
destructive  life.  It  was  well  that  Benoni  was  not 
within  reach. 

Hedwig  stood  calmly  by  the  table,  proud  in  her 
soul  that  her  father  should  be  roused  to  such  fury. 
The  old  man  paused  in  his  walk,  came  to  her,  and 
with  his  hand  turned  her  face  to  the  light,  gazing 
savagely  into  her  eyes. 

"  You  never  told  me  a  lie,"  he  growled  out. 

"  Never,"  she  said  boldly,  as  she  faced  him  scorn 
fully. 

He  knew  his  own  temper  in  his  child,  and  was  sat 
isfied.  The  soldier's  habit  of  self-control  was  strong 
in  him,  and  the  sardonic  humour  of  his  nature  served 
as  a  garment  to  the  thoughts  he  harboured. 

"  It  appears,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am  to  spend  the 
remainder  of  an  honourable  life  in  fighting  with  a 
pack  of  hounds.  I  nearly  killed  your  old  acquaint 
ance,  the  Signor  Professore  Cardegna,  this  after 
noon."  Hedwig  staggered  back,  and  turned  pale. 

"  What !  Is  he  wounded  ?  "  she  gasped  out,  press 
ing  her  hand  to  her  side. 

"  Ha !  That  touches  you  almost  as  closely  as 
Benoni's  insult,"  he  said  savagely.  "I  am  glad  of 
it.  I  repent  me,  and  wish  that  I  had  killed  him. 
We  met  on  the  road,  and  he  had  the  impertinence 
to  ask  me  for  your  hand,  —  I  am  sick  of  these  daily 
proposals  of  marriage,  and  then  I  inquired  if  he 
meant  to  insult  me." 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  289 

Hedwig  leaned  heavily  upon  the  table,  in  an  agony 
of  suspense. 

"  The  fellow  answered  that  if  I  were  insulted  he 
was  ready  to  fight  then  and  there,  in  the  road,  with 
my  pistols.  He  is  no  coward,  your  lover,  —  I  will 
say  that.  The  end  of  it  was  that  I  came  home,  and 
he  did  not." 

Hedwig  sank  into  the  chair  that  her  father  had 
left,  and  hid  her  face. 

"  Oh,  you  have  killed  him ! "  she  moaned. 

"No,"  said  the  count  shortly;  "I  did  not  touch 
a  hair  of  his  head.  But  he  rode  away  toward  Trevi." 
Hedwig  breathed  again.  "Are  you  satisfied?"  he 
asked,  with  a  hard  smile,  enjoying  the  terror  he 
had  excited. 

"  Oh,  how  cruel  you  are,  my  father ! "  she  said,  in 
a  broken  voice. 

"  I  tell  you  that  if  I  could  cure  you  of  your  insane 
passion  for  this  singer  fellow,  I  would  be  as  cruel 
as  the  Inquisition,"  retorted  the  count.  "  Now  listen, 
to  me.  You  shall  not  be  troubled  any  longer  with 
Benoni, — the  beast!  I  will  teach  him  a  lesson  of 
etiquette.  You  need  not  appear  at  dinner  to-night. 
But  you  are  not  to  suppose  that  our  residence  here 
is  at  an  end.  When  you  have  made  up  your  mind 
to  act  sensibly,  and  to  forget  the  Signer  Cardegna, 
you  shall  return  to  society,  where  you  may  select  a 
husband  of  your  own  position  and  fortune,  if  you 
choose ;  or  you  may  turn  Romanist,  and  go  into  a 
convent,  and  devote  yourself  to  good  works  and 
idolatry,  or  anything  else.  I  do  not  pretend  to  care 
what  becomes  of  you,  so  long  as  you  show  any  decent 


290  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

respect  for  your  name.  But  if  you  persist  in  pining 
and  moaning  and  starving  yourself,  because  I  will 
not  allow  you  to  turn  dancer  and  marry  a  strolling 
player,  you  will  have  to  remain  here.  I  am  not 
such  pleasant  company  when  I  am  bored,  I  can  tell 
you,  and  my  enthusiasm  for  the  beauties  of  nature 
is  probably  transitory." 

"I  can  bear  anything,  if  you  will  remove  Benoni," 
said  Hedwig  quietly,  as  she  rose  from  her  seat.  But 
the  pressure  of  the  iron  keys  she  had  hidden  in  her 
bosom  gave  her  a  strange  sensation. 

"  Never  fear,"  said  the  count,  taking  his  hat  from 
the  table.  "  You  shall  be  amply  avenged  of  Benoni 
and  his  foul  tongue.  I  may  not  love  my  daughter, 
but  no  one  shall  insult  her.  I  will  have  a  word  with 
him  this  evening." 

"  I  thank  you  for  that,  at  least,"  said  Hedwig,  as 
he  moved  to  the  door. 

"  Do  not  mention  it,"  said  he,  and  put  his  hand  on 
the  lock. 

A  sudden  impulse  seized  Hedwig.  She  ran  swiftly 
to  him,  and  clasped  her  hands  upon  his  arm. 

"  Father !  "  she  cried,  pleadingly. 

"What?" 

"Father,  do  you  love  me?"  He  hesitated  one 
moment. 

"  No,"  he  said  sternly ;  "  you  disobey  me ;  "  and  he 
went  out  in  rough  haste. 

The  door  closed  behind  him,  and  she  was  left  stand 
ing  alone.  What  could  she  do,  poor  child?  For 
months  he  had  tormented  her  and  persecuted  her,  and 
now  she  had  asked  him  plainly  if  she  still  held  a  place 
in  his  heart,  and  he  had  coldly  denied  it. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  291 

A  gentle,  tender  maiden,  love-sick  and  mind-sick, 
yearning  so  piteously  for  a  little  mercy,  or  sympathy, 
or  kindness,  and  treated  like  a  mutinous  soldier,  be 
cause  she  loved  so  honestly  and  purely,  —  is  it  any 
wonder  that  her  hand  went  to  her  bosom  and  clasped 
the  cold,  hard  keys  that  promised  her  life  and  freedom? 
I  think  not.  I  have  no  patience  with  young  women 
who  allow  themselves  to  be  carried  away  by  an  innate 
bad  taste  and  love  for  effect,  quarreling  with  the  peace 
ful  destiny  a  kind  Providence  has  vouchsafed  them, 
and  with  an  existence  which  they  are  too  dull  to 
make  interesting  to  themselves  or  to  any  one  else; 
finally  making  a  desperate  and  foolish  dash  at  noto 
riety  by  a  runaway  marriage  with  the  first  scamp  they 
can  find,  and  repenting  in  poverty  and  social  ostracism 
the  romance  they  conceived  in  wealth  and  luxury. 
They  deserve  their  fate.  But  when  a  sensitive  girl 
is  motherless,  cut  off  from  friends  and  pleasures,  pre 
sented  with  the  alternative  of  solitude  or  marriage 
with  some  detested  man,  or  locked  up  to  forget  a 
dream  which  was  half  realised  and  very  sweet,  then 
the  case  is  different.  If  she  breaks  her  bonds,  and 
flies  to  the  only  loving  heart  she  knows,  forgive  her, 
and  pray  Heaven  to  have  mercy  on  her,  for  she  takes 
a  fearful  leap  into  the  dark. 

Hedwig  felt  the  keys,  and  took  them  from  her  dress, 
and  pressed  them  to  her  cheek,  and  her  mind  was 
made  up.  She  glanced  at  the  small  gilt  clock,  and 
saw  that  the  hands  pointed  to  seven.  Five  hours 
were  before  her  in  which  to  make  her  preparations, 
such  as  they  could  be. 

In  accordance  with  her  father's  orders,  given  when 


292  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

he  left  her,  Temistocle  served  her  dinner  in  her 
sitting-room ;  and  the  uncertainty  of  the  night's 
enterprise  demanded  that  she  should  eat  something, 
lest  her  strength  should  fail  at  the  critical  moment. 
Temistocle  volunteered  the  information  that  her 
father  had  gone  to  the  baron's  apartment,  and  had 
not  been  seen  since.  She  heard  in  silence,  and  bade 
the  servant  leave  her  as  soon  as  he  had  ministered  to 
her  wants.  Then  she  wrote  a  short  letter  to  her  father, 
telling  him  that  she  had  left  him,  since  he  had  no 
place  for  her  in  his  heart,  and  that  she  had  gone  to 
the  one  man  who  seemed  ready  both  to  love  and 
to  protect  her.  This  missive  she  folded,  sealed,  and 
laid  in  a  prominent  place  upon  the  table,  addressed  to 
the  count. 

She  made  a  small  bundle,  —  very  neatly,  for  she 
is  clever  with  her  fingers,  —  and  put  on  a  dark  trav 
eling  dress,  in  the  folds  of  which  she  sewed  such 
jewels  as  were  small  and  valuable  and  her  own.  She 
would  take  nothing  which  her  father  had  given  her. 
In  all  this  she  displayed  perfect  coolness  and  fore 
sight. 

The  castle  became  intensely  quiet  as  the  evening 
advanced.  She  sat  watching  the  clock.  At  five 
minutes  before  midnight  she  took  her  bundle  and  her 
little  shoes  in  her  hand,  blew  out  her  candle,  and 
softly  left  the  room. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  393 


CHAPTER  XX. 

I  NEED  not  tell  you  how  I  passed  all  the  time  from 
Nino's  leaving  me  until  he  came  back  in  the  evening, 
just  as  I  could  see  from  my  window  that  the  full 
moon  was  touching  the  tower  of  the  castle.  I  sat 
looking  out,  expecting  him,  and  I  was  the  most 
anxious  professor  that  ever  found  himself  in  a  ridicu 
lous  position.  Temistocle  had  come,  and  you  know 
what  had  passed  between  us,  and  how  we  had  ar 
ranged  the  plan  of  the  night.  Most  heartily  did  I 
wish  myself  in  the  little  amphitheatre  of  my  lecture- 
room  at  the  University,  instead  of  being  pledged  to 
this  wild  plot  of  my  boy's  invention.  But  there  was 
no  drawing  back.  I  had  gone  myself  to  the  little 
stable  next  door,  where  I  had  kept  my  donkey,  and 
visited  him  daily  since  my  arrival,  and  I  had  made 
sure  that  I  could  have  him  at  a  moment's  notice  by 
putting  on  the  cumbrous  saddle.  Moreover,  I  had 
secretly  made  a  bundle  of  my  effects,  and  had  suc 
ceeded  in  taking  it  unobserved  to  the  stall,  and  I 
tied  it  to  the  pommel.  I  also  told  my  landlady  that 
I  was  going  away  in  the  morning,  with  the  young 
gentleman  who  had  visited  me,  and  who,  I  said,  was 
the  engineer  who  was  going  to  make  a  new  road  to 
the  Serra.  This  was  not  quite  true  ;  but  lies  that 
hurt  no  one  are  not  lies  at  all,  as  you  all  know,  and 


294  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

the  curiosity  of  the  old  woman  was  satisfied.  I  also 
paid  for  my  lodging,  and  gave  her  a  franc  for  herself, 
which  pleased  her  very  much.  I  meant  to  steal  away 
about  ten  o'clock,  or  as  soon  as  I  had  seen  Nino  and 
communicated  to  him  the  result  of  my  interview  with 
Temistocle. 

The  hours  seemed  endless,  in  spite  of  my  prepara 
tions,  which  occupied  some  time  ;  so  I  went  out  when 
I  had  eaten  my  supper,  and  visited  my  ass,  and  gave 
him  a  little  bread  that  was  left,  thinking  it  would 
strengthen  him  for  the  journey.  Then  I  came  back 
to  my  room,  and  watched.  Just  as  the  moonlight  was 
shooting  over  the  hill,  Nino  rode  up  the  street.  I 
knew  him  in  the  dusk  by  his  broad  hat,  and  also  be 
cause  he  was  humming  a  little  tune  through  his  nose, 
as  he  generally  does.  But  he  rode  past  my  door 
without  looking  up,  for  he  meant  to  put  his  mule  in 
the  stable  for  a  rest. 

At  last  he  came  in,  still  humming,  and  apologised 
for  the  delay,  saying  he  had  stopped  a  few  minutes 
at  the  inn  to  get  some  supper.  It  could  not  have 
been  a  very  substantial  meal  he  ate,  in  that  short 
time. 

"  What  did  the  man  say  ?  "  was  his  first  question, 
as  he  sat  down. 

"He  said  it  should  be  managed  as  I  desired,"  I 
answered.  "  Of  course  I  did  not  mention  you.  Te 
mistocle —  that  is  his  name  —  will  come  at  midnight, 
and  take  you  to  the  door.  There  you  will  find  this 
innamorata,  this  lady-love  of  yours,  for  whom  you 
are  about  to  turn  the  world  upside  down." 

"What  will  you  do  yourself,  Sor  Cornelio?"  he 
asked,  smiling. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  295 

•4I  will  go  now  and  get  my  donkey,  and  quietly 
ride  up  the  valley  to  the  Serra  di  Sant'  Antonio,"  I 
said.  "  I  am  sure  that  the  signorina  will  be  more  at 
her  ease  if  I  accompany  you.  I  am  a  very  proper 
person,  you  see." 

"  Yes,"  said  Nino  pensively,  "  you  are  very  proper. 
And  besides,  you  can  be  a  witness  of  the  civil  mar 
riage." 

"  Diavolo  !  "  I  cried,  "  a  marriage !  I  had  not 
thought  of  that." 

"  Blood  of  a  dog ! "  exclaimed  Nino,  "  what  on 
earth  did  you  think  of?"  He  was  angry  all  in  a 
moment. 

"  Piano,  —  do  not  disquiet  yourself,  my  boy.  I 
had  not  realised  that  the  wedding  was  so  near, — 
that  is  all.  Of  course  you  will  be  married  in  Rome, 
as  soon  as  ever  we  get  there." 

"  We  shall  be  married  in  Ceprano  to-morrow  night, 
by  the  Sindaco,  or  the  mayor,  or  whatever  civil  bishop 
they  support  in  that  God-forsaken  Neapolitan  town," 
said  Nino,  with  great  determination. 

"  Oh,  very  well ;  manage  it  as  you  like.  Only  be 
careful  that  it  is  properly  done,  and  have  it  regis 
tered,"  I  added.  "  Meanwhile,  I  will  start." 

"You  need  not  go  yet,  caro  mio;  it  is  not  nine 
o'clock." 

"  How  far  do  you  think  I  ought  to  go,  Nino  ? "  I 
inquired. 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  idea  of  going  up  the  Serra 
alone  was  not  so  attractive  in  the  evening  as  it  had 
been  in  the  morning  light.  I  thought  it  would  be 
very  dark  among  those  trees,  and  I  had  still  a  great 
deal  of  money  sewn  between  my  waist-coats. 


296  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  go  so  very  far,"  said  Nino. 
"  Three  or  four  miles  from  the  town  will  be  enough, 
I  will  wait  in  the  street  below,  after  eleven." 

We  sat  in  silence  for  some  time  afterwards,  and 
if  I  was  thinking  of  the  gloomy  ride  before  me,  I 
am  sure  that  Nino  was  thinking  of  Hedwig.  Poor 
fellow !  I  dare  say  he  was  anxious  enough  to  see 
her,  after  being  away  for  two  months,  and  spend 
ing  so  many  hours  almost  within  her  reach.  He 
sat  low  in  his  chair,  and  the  dismal  rays  of  the 
solitary  tallow  candle  cast  deep  shadows  on  his 
thoughtful  face  —  weary,  perhaps,  with  waiting  and 
with  long  travel,  yet  not  sad,  but  very  hopeful.  No 
fatigue  could  destroy  the  strong,  manly  expression  of 
his  features,  and  even  in  that  squalid  room,  by  the 
miserable  light,  dressed  in  his  plain  grey  clothes,  he 
was  still  the  man  of  success,  who  could  hold  thou 
sands  in  the  suspense  of  listening  to  his  slightest 
utterance.  Nino  is  a  wonderful  man,  and  I  am  con 
vinced  that  there  is  more  in  him  than  music,  which  is 
well  enough  when  one  can  be  as  great  as  he,  but  is 
not  all  the  world  holds.  I  am  sure  that  massive 
head  of  his  was  not  hammered  so  square  and  broad, 
by  the  great  hands  that  forge  the  thunderbolts  of 
nations,  merely  that  he  should  be  a  tenor  and  an 
actor,  and  give  pleasure  to  his  fellow-men.  I  see 
there  the  power  and  the  strength  of  a  broader  mastery 
than  that  which  bends  the  ears  of  a  theatre  audience. 
One  day  we  may  see  it.  It  needs  the  fire  of  hot  times 
to  fuse  the  elements  of  greatness  in  the  crucible  of 
revolution.  There  is  not  such  another  head  in  all 
Italy  as  Nino's  that  I  ever  have  seen,  and  I  have  seen 


A  KOMAN   SINGEK.  297 

the  best  in  Rome.  He  looked  so  grand,  as  he  sat 
there,  thinking  over  the  future.  I  am  not  praising 
his  face  for  its  beauty ;  there  is  little  enough  of  that, 
as  women  might  judge.  And  besides,  you  will 
laugh  at  my  ravings,  and  say  that  a  singer  is  a 
singer,  and  nothing  more,  for  all  his  life.  Well,  we 
shall  see  in  twenty  years ;  you  will,  —  perhaps  I  shall 
not. 

"Nino,"  I  asked  irrelevantly,  following  my  own 
train  of  reflection,  "have  you  ever  thought  of  any 
thing  but  music  —  and  love?"  He  roused  himself 
from  his  reverie,  and  stared  at  me. 

"  How  should  you  be  able  to  guess  my  thoughts  ?  " 
he  asked  at  last. 

"  People  who  have  lived  much  together  often  read 
each  other's  minds.  What  were  you  thinking  of  ?  " 
Nino  sighed,  and  hesitated  a  moment  before  he 
answered. 

"I  was  thinking,"  he  said,  "that  a  musician's 
destiny,  even  the  highest,  is  a  poor  return  for  a 
woman's  love." 

"  You  see :  I  was  thinking  of  you,  and  wondering 
whether,  after  all,  you  will  always  be  a  singer." 

"That  is  singular,"  he  answered  slowly.  "I  was 
reflecting  how  utterly  small  my  success  on  the  stage 
will  look  to  me  when  I  have  married  Hedwig  von 
Lira." 

"  There  is  a  larger  stage,  Nino  mio,  than  yours." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  he,  and  fell  back  in  his  chair 
again,  dreaming. 

I  fancy  that  at  any  other  time  we  might  have 
fallen  into  conversation  and  speculated  on  the  good 


298  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

old-fashioned  simile  which  likens  life  to  a  comedy, 
or  a  tragedy,  or  a  farce.  But  the  moment  was  ill 
chosen,  and  we  were  both  silent,  being  much  pre 
occupied  with  the  immediate  future. 

A  little  before  ten  I  made  up  my  mind  to  start. 
I  glanced  once  more  round  the  room  to  see  if  I  had 
left  anything.  Nino  was  still  sitting  in  his  chair, 
his  head  bent,  and  his  eyes  staring  at  the  floor. 

"Nino,"  I  said,  "I  am  going  now.  Here  is  an 
other  candle,  which  you  will  need  before  long,  for 
these  tallow  things  are  very  short."  Indeed,  the 
one  that  burned  was  already  guttering  low  in  the 
old  brass  candlestick.  Nino  rose  and  shook  him 
self. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  he  said,  taking  me  by  both 
hands,  "you  know  that  I  am  grateful  to  you.  I 
thank  you,  and  thank  you  again,  with  all  my  heart. 
Yes,  you  ought  to  go  now,  for  the  time  is  approach 
ing.  We  shall  join  you,  if  all  goes  well,  by  one 
o'clock." 

"  But,  Nino,  if  you  do  not  come  ?  " 

"  I  will  come,  alone,  or  with  her.  If  —  if  I  should 
not  be  with  you  by  two  in  the  morning,  go  on  alone, 
and  get  out  of  the  way.  It  will  be  because  I  am 
caught  by  that  old  Prussian  devil.  Good-bye." 

He  embraced  me  affectionately,  and  I  went  out. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  I  was  out  of  the  town, 
picking  my  way,  with  my  little  donkey,  over  the 
desolate  path  that  leads  toward  the  black  Serra. 
The  clatter  of  the  beast's  hoofs  over  the  stones  kept 
time  with  the  beatings  of  my  heart,  and  I  pressed 
my  thin  legs  close  to  his  thinner  sides  for  company. 


A    ROMAN   SINGER.  299 

When  Nino  was  left  alone,  —  and  all  this  I  know 
from  him,  —  he  sat  again  in  the  chair,  and  medi 
tated  ;  and  although  the  time  of  the  greatest  event 
in  his  life  was  very  near,  he  was  so  much  absorbed 
that  he  was  startled  when  he  looked  at  his  watch 
and  found  that  it  was  half  past  eleven.  He  had 
barely  time  to  make  his  preparations.  His  man 
was  warned,  but  was  waiting  near  the  inn,  not 
knowing  where  he  was  required,  as  Nino  himself 
had  not  been  to  ascertain  the  position  of  the  lower 
door,  fearing  lest  he  might  be  seen  by  Benoni.  He 
now  hastily  extinguished  the  light,  and  let  himself 
out  of  the  house  without  noise.  He  found  his  coun 
tryman  ready  with  the  mules,  ordered  him  to  come 
with  him,  and  returned  to  the  house,  instructing 
him  to  follow  and  wait  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
door  he  himself  should  enter.  Muffled  in  his  cloak, 
he  stood  in  the  street,  awaiting  the  messenger  from 
Hedwig. 

The  crazy  old  clock  of  the  church  tolled  the  hour, 
and  a  man  wrapped  in  a  nondescript  garment,  be 
tween  a  cloak  and  an  overcoat,  stole  along  the 
moonlit  street  to  where  Nino  stood,  in  front  of  my 
lodging. 

"  Temistocle !  "  called  Nino,  in  a  low  voice,  as  the 
fellow  hesitated. 

"  Excellency  "  —  answered  the  man,  and  then  drew 
back.  "  You  are  not  the  Signor  Grandi !  "  he  cried, 
in  alarm. 

"  It  is  the  same  thing,"  replied  Nino.    "  Let  us  go." 

"  But  how  is  this  ?  "  objected  Temistocle,  seeing  a 
new  development.  "  It  was  the  Signor  Grandi  whom 


300  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

I  was  to  conduct."  Nino  was  silent,  but  there  was  a 
crisp  sound  in  the  air  as  he  took  a  bank-note  from 
his  pocket-book.  "  Diavolo  !  "  muttered  the  servant, 
"  perhaps  it  may  be  right,  after  all."  Nino  gave  him 
the  note. 

"  That  is  my  passport,"  said  he. 

"  I  have  doubts,"  answered  Temistocle,  taking  it, 
nevertheless,  and  examining  it  by  the  moonlight. 
"It  has  no  visa,"  he  added,  with  a  cunning  leer. 
Nino  gave  him  another.  Then  Temistocle  had  no 
more  doubts. 

"I  will  conduct  your  excellency,"  he  said.  They 
moved  away,  and  Temistocle  was  so  deaf  that  he  did 
not  hear  the  mules  and  the  tramp  of  the  man  who  led 
them,  not  ten  paces  behind  him. 

Passing  round  the  rock  they  found  themselves  in 
the  shadow ;  a  fact  which  Nino  noted  with  much 
satisfaction,  for  he  feared  lest  some  one  might  be 
keeping  late  hours  in  the  castle.  The  mere  noise 
of  the  mules  would  attract  no  attention  in  a  moun 
tain  town,  where  the  country  people  start  for  their 
distant  work  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night. 
They  came  to  the  door.  Nino  called  softly  to  the 
man  with  the  mules  to  wait  in  the  shadow,  and 
Temistocle  knocked  at  the  door.  The  key  ground 
in  the  lock  from  within,  but  the  hands  that  held  it 
seemed  weak.  Nino's  heart  beat  fast. 

"  Temistocle  !  "   called  Hedwig's  trembling  voice. 

"What  is  the  matter,  your  excellency?"  asked 
the  servant  through  the  keyhole,  not  forgetting  his 
manners. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  turn  the  key !     What  shall  I  do  ?  " 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  301 

Nino  heard  and  pushed  the  servant  aside. 

"  Courage,  my  dear  lady,"  he  said,  aloud,  that  she 
might  know  his  voice.  Hedwig  appeared  to  make  a 
frantic  effort,  and  a  little  sound  of  pain  escaped  her 
as  she  hurt  her  hands. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do!"  she  cried  piteously.  "I 
locked  it  last  night,  and  now  I  cannot  turn  the  key ! " 

Nino  pressed  with  all  his  weight  against  the  door. 
Fortunately  it  was  strong,  or  he  would  have  broken 
it  in,  and  it  would  have  fallen  upon  her.  But  it 
opened  outward  and  was  heavily  bound  with  iron. 
Nino  groaned. 

"  Has  your  excellency  a  taper  ?  "  asked  Temistocle 
suddenly,  forcing  his  head  between  Nino's  body  and 
the  door,  in  order  to  be  heard. 

"  Yes.     I  put  it  out." 

"  And  matches  ?  "  he  asked  again. 

"Yes." 

"  Then  let  your  excellency  light  the  taper,  and 
drop  some  of  the  burning  wax  on  the  end  of  the  key, 
It  will  be  like  oil."  There  was  a  silence.  The  key 
was  withdrawn,  and  a  light  appeared  through  the  hole 
where  it  had  been.  Nino  instantly  fastened  his  eye 
to  the  aperture,  hoping  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Hedwig. 
But  he  could  not  see  anything  save  two  white  hands 
trying  to  cover  the  key  with  wax.  He  withdrew  his 
eye  quickly,  as  the  hands  pushed  the  key  through 
again. 

Again  the  lock  groaned,  —  a  little  sob  of  effort, 
another  trial,  and  the  bolts  flew  back  to  their  sockets. 
The  prudent  Temistocle,  who  did  not  wish  to  be  a 
witness  of  what  followed,  pretended  to  exert  gigantic 


302  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

strength  in  pulling  the  door  open,  and  Nino,  seeing 
him,  drew  back  a  moment,  to  let  him  pass. 

"Your  excellency  need  only  knock  at  the  upper 
door,"  he  said  to  Hedwig,  "and  I  will  open.  I  will 
watch,  lest  any  one  should  enter  from  above." 

"You  may  watch  till  the  rising  of  the  dead," 
thought  Nino,  and  Hedwig  stood  aside  on  the  narrow 
step  while  Temistocle  went  up.  One  instant  more, 
and  Nino  was  at  her  feet,  kissing  the  hem  of  her  dress, 
and  speechless  with  happiness,  for  his  tears  of  joy 
flowed  fast. 

Tenderly  Hedwig  bent  to  him,  and  laid  her  two 
hands  on  his  bare  head,  pressing  down  the  thick  and 
curly  hair  with  a  trembling,  passionate  motion. 

"  Signer  Cardegna,  you  must  not  kneel  there, — nay, 
sir,  I  know  you  love  me  !  Would  I  have  come  to  you 
else  ?  Give  me  your  hand  —  now  —  do  not  kiss  it  so 
hard  —  no  —  Oh,  Nino,  my  own  dear  Nino  " — 

What  should  have  followed  in  her  gentle  speech 
is  lacking,  for  many  and  most  sweet  reasons.  I  need 
not  tell  you  that  the  taper  was  extinguished,  and  they 
stood  locked  in  each  other's  arms  against  the  open 
door,  with  only  the  reflection  of  the  moon  from  the 
houses  opposite  to  illuminate  their  meeting. 

There  was  and  is  to  me  something  divinely  perfect 
and  godlike  in  these  two  virgin  hearts,  each  so  new 
to  their  love,  and  each  so  true  and  spotless  of  all  other. 
I  am  old  to  say  sweet  things  of  loving.  But  I  cannot 
help  it ;  for  though  I  never  was  as  they  are,  I  have 
loved  much  in  my  time.  Like  our  own  dear  Leopardi, 
I  loved  not  the  woman,  but  the  angel  which  is  the 
type  of  all  women,  and  whom  not  finding  I  perished 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  303 

miserably  as  to  my  heart.  But  in  my  breast  there  is 
still  the  temple  where  the  angel  dwelt,  and  the  shrine 
is  very  fragrant  still  with  the  divine  scent  of  the  heav 
enly  roses  that  were  about  her.  I  think,  also,  that 
all  those  who  love  in  this  world  must  have  such  a  holy 
place  of  worship  in  their  hearts.  Sometimes  the  king 
dom  of  the  soul  and  the  palace  of  the  body  are  all 
Love's,  made  beautiful  and  rich  with  rare  offerings  of 
great  constancy  and  faith ;  and  all  the  courtless  crea 
tions  of  transcendent  genius,  and  all  the  vast  aspira 
tions  of  far-reaching  power,  go  up  in  reverent  order 
to  do  homage  at  Love's  altar,  before  they  come  forth, 
like  giants,  to  make  the  great  world  tremble  and  reel 
in  its  giddy  grooves. 

And  with  another  it  is  different.  The  world  is  not 
his ;  he  is  the  world's,  and  all  his  petty  doings  have 
its  gaudy  stencil  blotched  upon  them.  Yet  haply 
even  he  has  a  heart,  and  somewhere  in  its  fruitless 
fallows  stands  a  poor  ruin,  that  never  was  of  much 
dignity  at  its  best,  —  poor  and  broken,  and  half 
choked  with  weeds  and  briers ;  but  even  thus  the 
weeds  are  fragrant  herbs,  and  the  briers  are  wild  roses, 
of  few  and  misshapen  petals,  but  sweet  nevertheless. 
For  this  ruin  was  once  a  shrine,  too,  which  his  mean 
hands  and  sterile  soul  did  try  most  ineffectually  to 
build  up  as  a  shelter  for  all  that  was  ever  worthy  in 
him. 

Now,  therefore,  I  say,  Love,  and  love  truly  and 
long,  —  even  for  ever ;  and  if  you  can  do  other  things 
well,  do  them ;  but  if  not,  at  least  learn  to  do  that, 
for  it  is  a  very  gentle  thing,  and  sweet  in  the  learn 
ing.  Some  of  you  laugh  at  me,  and  say,  Behold 


304  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

this  old-fashioned  driveler,  who  does  not  even  know 
that  love  is  no  longer  in  the  fashion  !  By  Saint 
Peter,  Heaven  will  soon  be  out  of  the  fashion,  too,  and 
Messer  Satanas  will  rake  in  the  just  and  the  unjust 
alike,  so  that  he  need  no  longer  fast  on  Fridays,  hav 
ing  a  more  savoury  larder !  And  no  doubt  some  of 
you  will  say  that  hell  is  really  so  antiquated  that  it 
should  be  put  in  the  museum  at  the  University  of 
Rome,  for  a  curious  old  piece  of  theological  furniture. 
Truth !  it  is  a  wonder  it  is  not  worn  out  with  digest 
ing  the  tough  morsels  it  gets,  when  people  like  you 
are  finally  got  rid  of  from  this  world!  But  it  is 
made  of  good  material,  and  will  last,  never  fear! 
This  is  not  the  gospel  of  peace,  but  it  is  the  gospel  of 
truth. 

Loving  hearts  and  gentle  souls  shall  rule  the  world 
some  day,  for  all  your  pestiferous  fashions  ;  and  old 
as  I  am,  —  I  do  not  mean  aged,  but  well  on  in  years, 
—  I  believe  in  love  still,  and  I  always  shall.  It  is 
true  it  was  not  given  to  me  to  love  as  Nino  loves  Hed- 
wig,  for  Nino  is  even  now  a  stronger,  sterner  man 
than  I.  His  is  the  nature  that  can  never  do  enough ; 
his  the  hands  that  never  tire  for  her ;  his  the  art  that 
would  surpass,  for  her,  the  stubborn  bounds  of  pos 
sibility.  He  is  never  weary  of  striving  to  increase 
her  joy  of  him.  His  philosophy  is  but  that.  No  quib 
bles  of  "  being  "  and  "  not  being,"  nor  any  wretched 
speculations  concerning  the  object  of  existence ;  he 
has  found  the  true  unity  of  unities,  and  he  holds  it 
fast. 

Meanwhile,  you  object  that  I  am  not  proceeding 
with  my  task,  and  telling  you  more  facts,  recounting 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  305 

more  conversations,  and  painting  more  descriptions. 
Believe  me,  this  one  fact,  that  to  love  well  is  to  be  all 
man  can  be,  is  greater  than  all  the  things  men  have 
ever  learned  and  classified  in  the  dictionaries.  It  is, 
moreover,  the  only  fact  that  has  consistently  with 
stood  the  ravages  of  time  and  social  revolution  ;  it  is 
the  wisdom  that  has  opened,  as  by  magic,  the  treas 
ures  of  genius,  of  goodness,  and  of  all  greatness,  for 
every  one  to  see ;  it  is  the  vital  elixir  that  has  made 
men  of  striplings,  and  giants  of  cripples,  and  heroes 
of  the  poor  in  heart,  though  great  in  spirit.  Nino  is 
an  example  :  for  he  was  but  a  boy,  yet  he  acted  like 
a  man  ;  a  gifted  artist  in  a  great  city,  and  courted  by 
the  noblest,  yet  he  kept  his  faith. 

But  when  I  have  taken  breath  I  will  tell  you  what 
he  and  Hedwig  said  to  each  other  at  the  gate,  and 
whether  at  the  last  she  went  with  him,  or  stayed  in 
dismal  Fillettino  for  her  father's  sake. 


306  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

"  LET  us  sit  upon  the  step  and  talk,"  said  Hedwig, 
gently  disengaging  herself  from  his  arms. 

"  The  hour  is  advancing,  and  it  is  damp  here,  my 
love.  You  will  be  cold,"  said  Nino,  protesting  against 
delay  as  best  he  could. 

"  No ;  and  I  must  talk  to  you."  She  sat  down,  but 
Nino  pulled  off  his  cloak  and  threw  it  round  her. 
She  motioned  him  to  sit  beside  her,  and  raised  the 
edge  of  the  heavy  mantle  with  her  hand.  "  I  think 
it  is  big  enough,"  said  she* 

"  I  think  so,"  returned  Nino ;  and  so  the  pair  sat 
side  by  side  and  hand  in  hand,  wrapped  in  the  same 
garment,  deep  in  the  shadow  of  the  rocky  door-way. 
"  You  got  my  letter,  dearest  ?  "  asked  Nino,  hoping 
to  remind  her  of  his  proposal. 

"Yes,  it  reached  me  safely.  Tell  me,  Nino,  have 
you  thought  of  me  in  all  this  time  ? "  she  asked,  in 
her  turn ;  and  there  was  the  joy  of  the  answer  already 
in  the  question. 

"  As  the  earth  longs  for  the  sun,  my  love,  through 
all  the  dark  night.  You  have  never  been  out  of  my 
thoughts.  You  know  that  I  went  away  to  find  you 
in  Paris,  and  I  went  to  London,  too ;  and  everywhere 
I  sang  to  you,  hoping  you  might  be  somewhere  in  the 
great  audiences.  But  you  never  went  to  Paris  at  all. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  307 

When  I  got  Professor  Grandi's  letter  saying  that  he 
had  discovered  you,  I  had  but  one  night  more  to  sing, 
and  then  I  flew  to  you." 

"  And  now  you  have  found  me,"  said  Hedwig, 
looking  lovingly  up  to  him  through  the  shadow. 

"  Yes,  dear  one ;  and  I  have  come  just  in  time. 
You  are  in  great  trouble  now,  and  I  am  here  to  save 
you  from  it  all.  Tell  me,  what  is  it  all  about?  " 

"  Ah,  Nino  dear,  it  is  very  terrible.  My  father 
declared  I  must  marry  Baron  Benoni,  or  end  my  days 
here,  in  this  dismal  castle." 

Nino  ground  his  teeth,  and  drew  her  even  closer  to 
him,  so  that  her  head  rested  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Infamous  wretch  !  "  he  muttered. 

"  Hush,  Nino,"  said  Hedwig  gently ;  "  he  is  my 
father." 

"  Oh,  I  mean  Benoni,  of  course,"  exclaimed  Nino 
quickly. 

"  Yes,  dear,  of  course  you  do,"  Hedwig  responded. 
"  But  my  father  has  changed  his  mind.  He  no  longer 
wishes  me  to  marry  the  Jew." 

"  Why  is  that,  sweetheart  ?  " 

"  Because  Benoni  was  very  rude  to  me  to-day,  and 
I  told  my  father,  who  said  he  should  leave  the  house 
at  once." 

"  I  hope  he  will  kill  the  hound !  "  cried  Nino,  with 
rising  anger.  "  And  I  am  glad  your  father  has  still 
the  decency  to  protect  you  from  insult." 

"  My  father  is  very  unkind,  Nino  mio,  but  he  is  an 
officer  and  a  gentleman." 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  that  means,  —  a  gentleman ! 
Fie  on  your  gentlemen !  Do  you  love  me  less,  Hed 
wig,  because  I  am  of  the  people  ?  " 


308  A  KOMAN   SINGER. 

For  all  answer  Hedwig  threw  her  arms  round  his 
neck  passionately. 

"  Tell  me,  love,  should  you  think  better  of  me  if  I 
were  noble  ?  " 

"Ah,  Nino,  how  most  unkind!  Oh,  no:  I  love 
you,  and  for  your  sake  I  love  the  people,  —  the 
strong,  brave  people,  whose  man  you  are." 

"  God  bless  you,  dear,  for  that,"  he  answered  ten 
derly.  "  But  say,  will  your  father  take  you  back  to 
Rome,  now  that  he  has  sent  away  Benoni  ?  " 

"  No,  he  will  not.  He  swears  that  I  shall  stay  here 
until  I  can  forget  you."  The  fair  head  rested  again 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  your  most  high  and  noble 
father  has  amazingly  done  perjury  in  his  oath,"  re 
marked  Nino,  resting  his  hand  on  her  hair,  from 
which  the  thick  black  veil  which  had  muffled  it  had 
slipped  back.  "  What  do  you  think,  love  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Hedwig,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Why,  deaf,  you  have  only  to  close  this  door 
behind  you,  and  you  may  laugh  at  your  prison  and 
your  jailer ! " 

"  Oh,  I  could  not,  Nino ;  and  besides,  I  am  weak, 
and  cannot  walk  very  far.  And  we  should  have  to 
walk  very  far,  you  know." 

"You,  darling?  Do  you  think  I  would  not  and 
could  not  bear  you  from  here  to  Rome  in  these 
arms?" 

As  he  spoke  he  lifted  her  bodily  from  the  step. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  half  frightened,  half  thrilled, 
"  how  strong  you  are,  Nino  !  " 

"Not  I;  it  is  my  love.     But  I  have  beasts  close 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  309 

by,  waiting  even  now;  good  stout  mules,  that  will 
think  you  are  only  a  little  silver  butterfly  that  has 
flitted  down  from  the  moon  for  them  to  carry." 

"Have  you  done  that,  dear?"  she  asked  doubt 
fully,  while  her  heart  leaped  at  the  thought.  "  But 
my  father  has  horses,"  she  added,  on  a  sudden,  in  a 
very  anxious  voice. 

"  Never  fear,  my  darling.  No  horse  could  scratch 
a  foothold  in  the  place  where  our  mules  are  as  safe 
as  in  a  meadow.  Come,  dear  heart,  let  us  be  going." 
But  Hedwig  hung  her  head,  and  did  not  stir.  "  What 
is  it,  Hedwig?"  he  asked,  bending  down  to  her  and 
softly  stroking  her  hair.  "  Are  you  afraid  of  me  ?  " 

"  No,  —  oh,  no  !  Not  of  you,  Nino, — never  of  you ! " 
She  pushed  her  face  close  against  him,  very  lovingly. 

"What  then,  dear?  Everything  is  ready  for  us. 
Why  should  we  wait?" 

"  Is  it  quite  right,  Nino  ?  " 

"Ah,  yes,  love,  it  is  right,  —  the  rightest  right 
that  ever  was  I  How  can  such  love  as  ours  be 
wrong  ?  Have  I  not  to-day  implored  your  father  to 
relent  and  let  us  marry  ?  I  met  him  in  the  road  "  — 

"He  told  me,  dear.  It  was  brave  of  you.  And 
he  frightened  me  by  making  me  think  he  had  killed 
you.  Oh,  I  was  so  frightened,  you  do  not  know !  " 

"  Cruel "  —  Nino  checked  the  rising  epithet.  "  He 
is  your  father,  dear,  and  I  must  not  speak  my  mind. 
But  since  he  will  not  let  you  go,  what  will  you  do  ? 
Will  you  cease  to  love  me,  at  his  orders  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Nino,  never,  never,  never ! " 

"But  will  you  stay  here,  to  die  of  solitude  and 
slow  torture  ?  "  he  pleaded  passionately. 


310  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"I —  I  suppose  so,  Nino,"  she  said,  in  a  choking  sob. 

"  Now,  by  Heaven,  you  shall  not !  " 

He  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  raising  her  suddenly 
to  her  feet.  Her  head  fell  back  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  he  could  see  her  turn  pale  to  the  very  lips,  for 
his  sight  was  softened  to  the  gloom,  and  her  eyes 
shone  like  stars  of  fire  at  him  from  beneath  the  half- 
closed  lids.  But  the  faint  glory  of  coming  happiness 
was  already  on  her  face,  and  he  knew  that  the  last 
fight  was  fought  for  love's  mastery. 

"  Shall  we  ever  part  again,  love  ?  "  he  whispered, 
close  to  her.  She  shook  her  head,  her  starry  eyes 
still  fastened  on  his. 

"  Then  come,  my  own  dear  one,  —  come,"  and  he 
gently  drew  her  with  him.  He  glanced,  naturally 
enough,  at  the  step  where  they  had  sat,  and  some 
thing  dark  caught  his  eye  just  above  it.  Holding 
her  hand  in  one  of  his,  as  though  fearful  lest  she 
should  escape  him,  he  stooped  quickly  and  snatched 
the  thing  from  the  stair  with  the  other.  It  was 
Hedwig's  little  bundle. 

"What  have  you  here?"  he  asked.  "  Oh,  Hed 
wig,  you  said  you  would  not  come !  "  he  added,  halt 
laughing,  as  he  discovered  what  it  was. 

"I  was  not  sure  that  I  should  like  you,  Nino," 
she  said,  as  he  again  put  his  arm  about  her.  Hed- 
wig  started  violently.  "What  is  that?"  she  ex 
claimed,  in  a  terrified  whisper. 

"What,  love?" 

"  The  noise !  Oh,  Nino,  there  is  some  one  on  the 
staircase,  coming  down.  Quick, — quick!  Save  me, 
for  love's  sake  !  " 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  311 

But  Nino  had  heard,  too,  the  clumsy  but  rapid 
groping  of  heavy  feet  on  the  stairs  above,  far  up 
in  the  winding  stone  steps,  but  momentarily  coming 
nearer.  Instantly  he  pushed  Hedwig  out  to  the 
street,  tossing  the  bundle  on  the  ground,  withdrew 
the  heavy  key,  shut  the  door,  and  double-turned  the 
lock  from  the  outside,  removing  the  key  again  at 
once.  Nino  is  a  man  who  acts  suddenly  and  infalli 
bly  in  great  emergencies.  He  took  Hedwig  in  his 
arms,  and  ran  with  her  to  the  spot  where  the  mules 
were  standing,  twenty  yards  away. 

The  stout  countryman  from  Subiaco,  who  had 
spent  some  years  in  breaking  stones  out  of  considera 
tion  for  the  government,  as  a  general  confession  of 
the  inaccuracy  of  his  views  regarding  foreigners, 
was  by  no  means  astonished  when  he  saw  Nino 
appear  with  a  woman  in  his  arms.  Together  they 
seated  her  on  one  of  the  mules,  and  ran  beside  her, 
for  there  was  no  time  for  Nino  to  mount.  They 
had  to  pass  the  door,  and  through  all  its  oaken  thick 
ness  they  could  hear  the  curses  and  imprecations  of 
some  one  inside,  and  the  wood  and  iron  shook  with 
repeated  blows  and  kicks.  The  quick-witted  mule 
teer  saw  the  bundle  lying  where  Nino  had  tossed  it, 
and  he  picked  it  up  as  he  ran. 

Both  Nino  and  Hedwig  recognised  Benoni's  voice, 
but  neither  spoke  as  they  hurried  up  the  street  into 
the  bright  moonlight,  she  riding  and  Nino  running 
as  he  led  the  other  beast  at  a  sharp  trot.  In  five 
minutes  they  were  out  of  the  little  town,  and  Nino, 
looking  back,  could  see  that  the  broad  white  wa} 
behind  them  was  clear  of  all  pursuers.  Then  h< 


312  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

himself  mounted,  and  the  countryman  trotted  by  his 
side. 

Nino  brought  his  mule  close  to  Hedwig's.  She 
was  an  accomplished  horsewoman,  and  had  no  diffi 
culty  in  accommodating  herself  to  the  rough  country 
saddle.  Their  hands  met,  and  the  mules,  long  accus 
tomed  to  each  other's  company,  moved  so  evenly 
that  the  gentle  bond  was  not  broken.  But  although 
Hedwig's  fingers  twined  lovingly  with  his,  and  she 
often  turned  and  looked  at  him  from  beneath  her 
hanging  veil,  she  was  silent  for  a  long  time.  Nino 
respected  her  mood,  half  guessing  what  she  felt,  and 
no  sound  was  heard  save  an  occasional  grunt  from 
the  countryman  as  he  urged  the  beasts,  and  the 
regular  clatter  of  the  hoofs  on  the  stony  road. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Nino  was  overwhelmed  with 
anxiety ;  for  his  quick  wits  had  told  him  that  Benoni, 
infuriated  by  the  check  he  had  received,  would  lose 
no  time  in  remounting  the  stairs,  saddling  a  horse, 
and  following  them.  If  only  they  could  reach  the 
steeper  part  of  the  ravine,  they  could  bid  defiance 
to  any  horse  that  ever  galloped,  for  Benoni  must 
inevitably  come  to  grief  if  he  attempted  a  pursuit 
into  the  desolate  Serra.  He  saw  that  Hedwig  had 
not  apprehended  the  danger,  when  once  the  baron 
was  stopped  by  the  door,  conceiving  in  her  heart  the 
impression  that  he  was  a  prisoner  in  his  own  trap. 
Nevertheless,  they  urged  the  beasts  onward  hotly, 
if  one  may  use  the  word  of  the  long,  heavy  trot  of 
a  mountain  mule.  The  sturdy  countryman  never 
paused  nor  gasped  for  breath,  keeping  pace  in  a 
steady,  determined  fashion. 


A  KOMAN   SINGER.  313 

But  they  need  not  have  been  disturbed,  for  Hed- 
wig's  guess  was  nearer  the  truth  than  Nino's  reason 
ing.  They  knew  it  later,  when  Temistocle  found  them 
in  Rome,  and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  how  it  happened. 
When  he  reached  the  head  of  the  staircase,  he  took 
the  key  from  the  one  side  to  the  other,  locked  the 
door,  as  agreed,  and  sat  down  to  wait  for  He d wig's 
rap.  He  indeed  suspected  that  it  might  never  come, 
for  he  had  only  pretended  not  to  see  the  mules ;  but 
the  prospect  of  further  bribes  made  him  anxious  not 
to  lose  sight  of  his  mistress,  and  certainly  not  to  dis 
obey  her,  in  case  she  really  returned.  The  staircase 
opened  into  the  foot  of  the  tower,  a  broad  stone 
chamber,  with  unglazed  windows. 

Temistocle  sat  himself  down  to  wait  on  an  old  bench 
which  had  been  put  there,  and  the  light  of  the  full 
moon  made  the  place  as  bright  as  day.  Now  the  lock 
on  the  door  was  rusty,  like  the  one  below,  and  creaked 
loudly  every  time  it  was  turned.  But  Temistocle 
fancied  it  could  not  be  heard  in  the  great  building, 
and  felt  quite  safe.  Sitting  there,  he  nodded  and  fell 
asleep,  tired  with  the  watching. 

Benoni  had  probably  passed  a  fiery  half  hour  with 
the  count.  But  I  have  no  means  of  knowing  what 
was  said  on  either  side ;  at  all  events,  he  was  in  the 
castle  still,  and,  what  is  more,  he  was  awake.  When 
Hedwig  opened  the  upper  door  and  closed  it  behind 
her,  the  sound  was  distinctly  audible  to  his  quick  ears, 
and  he  probably  listened  and  speculated,  and  finally 
yielded  to  his  curiosity. 

However  this  may  have  been,  he  found  Temistocle 
asleep  in  the  tower  basement,  saw  the  key  in  the  lock, 


314  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

guessed  whence  the  noise  had  come,  and  turned  it. 
The  movement  woke  Temistocle,  who  started  to  his 
feet,  and  recognised  the  tall  figure  of  the  baron  just 
entering  the  door.  Too  much  confused  for  reflection, 
he  called  aloud,  and  the  baron  disappeared  down  the 
stairs.  Temistocle  listened  at  the  top,  heard  distinctly 
the  shutting  and  locking  of  the  lower  door,  and  a 
moment  afterwards  Benoni's  voice,  swearing  in  every 
language  at  once,  came  echoing  up. 

"  They  have  escaped,"  said  Temistocle  to  himself. 
"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  had  better  do  the  same." 
With  that  he  locked  the  upper  door,  put  the  key  in 
his  pocket,  and  departed  on  tiptoe.  Having  his  hat 
and  his  overcoat  with  him,  and  his  money  in  his 
pocket,  he  determined  to  leave  the  baron  shut  up  in 
the  staircase.  He  softly  left  the  castle  by  the  front 
gate,  of  which  he  knew  the  tricks,  and  he  was  not 
heard  of  for  several  weeks  afterwards.  As  for  Benoni, 
he  was  completely  caught,  and  probably  spent  the  re 
mainder  of  the  night  in  trying  to  wake  the  inmates 
of  the  building.  So  you  see  that  Nino  need  i*ot  have 
been  so  much  disturbed,  after  all. 

While  these  things  were  happening  Kino  and  Hed- 
wig  got  fairly  away,  and  no  one  but  a  mountaineer 
of  the  district  could  possibly  have  overtaken  them. 
Just  as  they  reached  the  place  where  the  valley  sud 
denly  narrows  to  a  gorge,  the  countryman  spoke.  It 
was  the  first  word  uttered  by  any  of  the  party  in  an 
hour,  so  great  had  been  their  haste  and  anxiety. 

"  I  see  a  man  with  a  beast,"  he  said,  shortly. 

"  So  do  I,"  answered  Nino.  "  I  expect  to  meet  a 
friend  here."  Then  he  turned  to  Hedwig.  "Dear 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  315 

one,"  he  said,  "we  are  to  have  a  companion  now,  who 
says  he  is  a  very  proper  person." 

"  A  companion  ?  "  repeated  Hedwig,  anxiously. 

"  Yes.  We  are  to  have  the  society  of  no  less  a  per 
son  than  the  Professor  Cornelio  Grandi,  of  the  Univer 
sity  of  Rome.  He  will  go  with  us,  and  be  a  witness." 

"  Yes,"   said    Hedwig,    expecting    more,   "  a  wit 


ness  "  — 


"  A  witness  of  our  marriage,  dear  lady ;  I  trust 
to-morrow,  —  or  to-day,  since  midnight  is  past." 

He  leaned  far  over  his  saddle-bow,  as  the  mules 
clambered  up  the  rough  place.  Her  hand  went  out 
to  him,  and  he  took  it.  They  were  so  near  that  I 
could  see  them.  He  dropped  the  reins  and  bared 
his  head,  and  so,  riding,  he  bent  himself  still  further, 
and  pressed  his  lips  upon  her  hand ;  and  that  was  all 
the  marriage  contract  which  was  sealed  between  them. 
But  it  was  enough. 

There  I  sat,  upon  a  stone  in  the  moonlight,  just 
below  the  trees,  waiting  for  them.  And  there  I  had 
been  for  two  mortal  hours  and  more,  left  to  meditate 
upon  the  follies  of  professors  in  general  and  of  myself 
in  particular.  I  was  beginning  to  wonder  whether 
Nino  would  come  at  all,  and  I  can  tell  you  I  was  glad 
to  see  the  little  caravan.  Ugh !  it  is  an  ugly  place  to 
be  alone  in ! 

They  rode  up,  and  I  went  forward  to  meet  them. 

"Nino  mio,"  said  I,  "you  have  made  me  pass  a 
terrible  time  here.  Thank  Heaven,  you  are  come; 
and  the  contessina,  too  !  Your  most  humble  servant, 
signorina." 

I  bowed  low  and  Hedwig  bent  a  little  forward,  but 


816  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

the  moon  was  just  behind  her,  and  I  could  not  see 
her  face. 

"  I  did  not  think  we  should  meet  so  soon,  Signor 
Grandi.  But  I  am  very  glad."  There  was  a  sweet 
shyness  in  the  little  speech  that  touched  me.  I  am 
sure  she  was  afraid  that  it  was  not  yet  quite  right, 
or  at  least  that  there  should  be  some  other  lady  in 
the  party. 

"  Courage,  Messer  Cornelio,"  said  Nino.  "  Mount 
your  donkey,  and  let  us  be  on  our  way." 

"Is  not  the  contessina  tired?"  I  inquired.  "You 
might  surely  rest  a  little  here." 

"  Caro  mio,"  answered  Nino,  "  we  must  be  safe  at 
the  top  of  the  pass  before  we  rest.  We  were  so  un 
fortunate  as  to  wake  his  excellency  the  Baron  Benoni 
out  of  some  sweet  dream  or  other,  and  perhaps  he  is 
not  far  behind  us." 

An  encounter  with  the  furious  Jew  was  not  pre 
cisely  attractive  to  me,  and  I  was  on  my  donkey  be 
fore  you  could  count  a  score.  I  suggested  to  Nino 
that  it  would  be  wiser  if  the  countryman  led  the 
way  through  the  woods,  and  I  followed  him.  Then 
the  contessina  would  be  behind  me,  and  Nina  could 
bring  up  the  rear.  It  occurred  to  me  that  the  mules 
might  outstrip  my  donkey,  if  I  went  last,  and  so  I 
might  be  left  to  face  the  attack,  if  any  came ;  whereas, 
if  I  were  in  front,  the  others  could  not  go  any  faster 
than  I. 


A  KOMAN   SINGER. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE  gorge  rises  steep  and  precipitous  between  the 
lofty  mountains  on  both  sides,  and  it  is  fortunate 
that  we  had  some  light  from  the  moon,  which  was 
still  high  at  two  o'clock,  being  at  the  full. 

It  is  a  ghastly  place  enough.  In  the  days  of  the 
Papal  States  the  Serra  di  Sant'  Antonio,  as  it  is 
called,  was  the  shortest  passage  to  the  kingdom  of 
Naples,  and  the  frontier  line  ran  across  its  summit. 
To  pass  from  one  dominion  to  the  other  it  would  be 
necessary  to  go  out  of  the  way  some  forty  or  fifty 
miles,  perhaps,  unless  one  took  this  route;  and  the 
natural  consequence  was  that  outlaws,  smugglers, 
political  fugitives,  and  all  such  manner  of  men  found 
it  a  great  convenience.  Soldiers  were  stationed  in 
Fillettino  and  on  the  other  side,  to  check  illicit 
traffic  and  brigandage,  and  many  were  the  fights  that 
were  fought  among  these  giant  beeches. 

The  trees  are  of  primeval  dimensions,  for  no  one 
has  yet  been  enterprising  enough  to  attempt  to  fell 
the  timber.  The  gorge  is  so  steep,  and  in  many 
places  so  abruptly  precipitous,  that  the  logs  could 
never  be  removed;  and  so  they  have  grown  undis 
turbed  for  hundreds  of  years,  rotting  and  falling 
away  as  they  stand.  The  beech  is  a  lordly  tree, 
yith  its  great  smooth  trunk  and  its  spreading 


318  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

branches,  and  though  it  never  reaches  the  size  of  the 
chestnut,  it  is  far  more  beautiful  and  long-lived. 

Here  and  there,  at  every  hundred  yards  or  so,  it 
seemed  to  me,  the  countryman  touched  his  hat  and 
crossed  himself  as  he  clambered  up  the  rocky  path, 
and  then  I  did  likewise ;  for  there  was  always  some 
rude  cross  or  rough  attempt  at  the  inscription  of  a 
name  at  such  spots,  which  marked  where  a  man  had 
met  his  untimely  end.  Sometimes  the  moonbeams 
struggled  through  the  branches,  still  bare  of  leaves, 
and  fell  on  a  few  bold  initials  and  a  date ;  and  some 
times  we  came  to  a  broad  ledge  where  no  trees  were, 
but  only  a  couple  of  black  sticks  tied  at  right  angled 
for  a  cross.  It  was  a  dismal  place,  and  the  owls 
hooted  at  us. 

Besides,  it  grew  intensely  cold  towards  morning^ 
so  that  the  countryman  wanted  to  stop  and  make  a 
fire  to  warm  ourselves.  Though  it  was  the  end  of 
March,  the  ground  was  frozen  as  hard  as  any  stone 
wherever  it  was  free  from  rocks.  But  Nino  dis 
mounted,  and  insisted  upon  wrapping  his  cloak  about 
Hedwig;  and  then  he  walked,  for  fear  of  catching 
cold,  and  the  countryman  mounted  his  mule  and 
clambered  away  in  front.  In  this  way  Hedwig  and 
Nino  lagged  behind,  conversing  in  low  tones  that 
sounded  very  soft;  and  when  I  looked  round,  I  could 
see  how  he  held  his  hand  on  her  saddle  and  supported 
her  in  the  rough  places.  Poor  child,  who  would  have 
thought  she  could  bear  such  terrible  work!  But  she 
had  the  blood  of  a  soldierly  old  race  in  her  veins,  arid 
would  have  struggled  on  silently  till  she  died. 

I  think  it  would  be  useless  to  describe  every  stone 


A    ROMAN   SINGER.  319 

on  the  desolate  journey,  but  when  the  morning 
dawned  we  were  at  the  top,  and  we  found  the  descent 
much  easier.  The  rosy  streaks  came  first,  quite  sud 
denly,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  sun  was  up,  and  the 
eventful  night  was  past.  I  was  never  so  glad  to  get 
rid  of  a  night  in  my  life.  It  is  fortunate  that  I  am 
so  thin  and  light,  for  I  could  never  have  reached  the 
high-road  alive  had  I  been  as  fat  as  De  Pretis  is ;  and 
certainly  the  little  donkey  would  have  died  by  the 
way.  He  was  quite  as  thin  when  I  sold  him  again 
as  when  I  bought  him,  a  fortnight  earlier,  in  spite  of 
the  bread  I  had  given  him. 

Hedwig  drew  her  veil  close  about  her  face  as  the 
daylight  broke,  for  she  would  not  let  Nino  see  how 
pale  and  tired  she  was.  But  when  at  last  we  were 
in  the  broad,  fertile  valley  which  marks  the  begin 
ning  of  the  old  kingdom  of  Naples,  we  reached  a 
village  where  there  was  an  inn,  and  Nino  turned 
every  one  out  of  the  best  room  with  a  high  hand, 
and  had  a  couch  of  some  sort  spread  for  Hedwig.  He 
himself  walked  up  and  down  outside  the  door  for  five 
whole  hours,  lest  she  should  be  disturbed  in  her 
sleep.  As  for  me,  I  lay  on  a  bench,  rolled  in  my 
cloak,  and  slept  as  I  have  not  slept  since  I  was 
twenty. 

Nino  knew  that  the  danger  of  pursuit  was  past 
now,  and  that  the  first  thing  necessary  was  to  give 
Hedwig  rest ;  for  she  was  so  tired  that  she  could  not 
eat,  though  there  were  very  good  eggs  to  be  had,  of 
which  I  ate  three,  and  drank  some  wine,  which  does 
not  compare  with  that  on  the  Roman  side. 

The  sturdy  man  from  Subiaco  seemed  like  iron, 


320  A  ROMAN    SINGER. 

for  he  ate  sparingly  and  drank  less,  and  went  out 
into  the  village  to  secure  a  conveyance  and  to  inquire 
the  nearest  way  to  Ceprano. 

But  when,  as  I  have  said,  Nino  had  guarded  Hed- 
wig's  door  for  five  hours  he  woke  me  from  my  sleep, 
and  by  that  time  it  was  about  two  in  the  afternoon. 

"Hi,  Messer  Cornelio!  wake  up  I  "he  cried,  pull 
ing  my  arm.  And  I  rubbed  my  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Nino  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"I  want  to  be  married  immediately,"  he  replied, 
still  pulling  at  my  elbow. 

"Well,  pumpkin-head,"  I  said  angrily,  "marry, 
then,  in  Heaven's  name,  and  let  me  sleep!  I  do  not 
want  to  marry  anybody." 

"But  I  do,"  retorted  Nino,  sitting  down  on  the 
bench  and  laying  a  hand  on  my  shoulder.  He  could 
still  see  Hedwig's  door  from  where  he  sat. 

"  In  this  place  ?  "  I  asked.     "  Are  you  serious  ?  " 

"  Perfectly.  This  is  a  town  of  some  size,  and  there 
must  be  a  mayor  here  who  marries  people  when  they 
take  the  fancy." 

"Diavolo!     I  suppose  so,"  I  assented. 

"A  sindaco,  — there  must  be  one,  surely." 

"  Very  well,  go  and  find  him,  good-for-nothing  I  "  I 
exclaimed. 

"  But  I  cannot  go  away  and  leave  that  door  until 
she  wakes,"  he  objected.  "Dear  Messer  Cornelio, 
you  have  done  so  much  for  me,  and  are  so  kind, 
—  will  you  not  go  out  and  find  the  sindaco,  and  bring 
him  here  to  marry  us  ?  " 

"Nino,"  I  said,  gravely,  "  the  ass  is  a  patient  beast, 
and  very  intelligent,  but  there  is  a  limit  to  his  capa- 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  321 

bilities.  So  long  as  it  is  merely  a  question  of  doing 
things  you  cannot  do,  very  well.  But  if  it  comes  to 
this,  that  I  must  find  not  only  the  bride,  but  also  the 
mayor  and  the  priest,  I  say,  with  good  Pius  IX., — 
rest  his  soul, — non  possumus."  Nino  laughed. 
He  could  afford  to  laugh  now. 

"Messer  Cornelio,  a  child  could  tell  you  have 
been  asleep.  I  never  heard  such  a  string  of  discon 
nected  sentences  in  my  life.  Come,  be  kind,  and  get 
me  a  mayor  that  I  may  be  married." 

"I  tell  you  I  will  not,"  I  cried  stubbornly.  "Go 
yourself." 

"  But  I  cannot  leave  the  door.  If  anything  should 
happen  to  her  "  — 

"  Macch£ !  What  should  happen  to  her,  pray  ?  I 
will  put  my  bench  across  the  door,  and  sit  there  till 
you  come  back." 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure  "  —  he  began. 

"Idiot!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Well,  let  us  see  how  it  looks." 

And  with  that  he  ousted  me  from  my  bench,  and 
carried  it,  walking  on  tiptoe,  to  the  entrance  of  Hed- 
wig's  room.  Then  he  placed  it  across  the  door. 

"Now  sit  down,"  he  said  authoritatively,  but  in  a 
whisper ;  and  I  took  my  place  in  the  middle  of  the 
long  seat.  He  stood  back  and  looked  at  me  with  an 
artistic  squint. 

"You  look  so  proper,"  he  said,  "that  I  am  sure 
nobody  will  think  of  trying  the  door  while  you  sit 
there.  Will  you  remain  till  I  come  back?" 

"Like  Saint  Peter  in  his  chair,"  I  whispered,  for 
I  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him. 


322  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

"Well,  then,  I  must  risk  whatever  may  happen, 
and  leave  you  here,"  So  he  went  away.  Now  I  ask 
you  if  this  was  not  a  ridiculous  position.  But  I  had 
discovered,  in  the  course  of  my  fortnight's  wander 
ings,  that  I  was  really  something  of  a  philosopher  in 
practice,  and  I  am  proud  to  say  that  on  this  occasion 
I  smoked  in  absolute  indifference  to  the  absurdity  of 
the  thing. 

People  came  and  stood  at  a  distance  in  the  pas 
sage,  and  eyed  me  curiously.  But  they  knew  I  be 
longed  to  the  party  of  foreigners,  and  doubtless  they 
supposed  it  was  the  custom  of  my  country  to  guard 
doors  in  that  way. 

An  hour  passed,  and  I  heard  Hedwig  stirring  in 
the  room.  After  a  time  she  came  close  to  the  door 
and  put  her  hand  on  the  lock,  so  that  it  began  to  rat 
tle;  but  she  hesitated,  and  went  away  again.  I  once 
more  heard  her  moving  about.  Then  I  heard  her 
open  the  window,  and  at  last  she  came  boldly  and 
opened  the  door,  which  turned  inward.  I  sat  like  a 
rock,  not  knowing  whether  Nino  would  like  me  to 
turn  round  and  look. 

"  Signer  Grandi !  "  she  cried  at  last  in  laughing 
tones. 

"Yes,  signorina!"  I  replied  respectfully,  without 
moving.  She  hesitated. 

"  What  are  you  doing  in  that  strange  position  ? " 
she  asked. 

"I  am  mounting  guard,"  I  answered.  "And  I 
promised  Nino  that  I  would  sit  here  till  he  came 
back." 

She  fairly  laughed  now,  and  it  was  the  most  airy, 
silvery  laugh  in  the  world. 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  323 

"  But  why  do  you  not  look  at  me  ?  " 

"I  am  not  sure  that  Nino  would  let  me,"  said  I. 
"  I  promised  not  to  move,  and  I  will  keep  my  promise." 

"  Will  you  let  me  out  ?  "  she  asked,  struggling  with 
her  merriment. 

"By  no  means,"  I  answered;  "any  more  than  I 
would  let  anybody  in." 

"Then  we  must  make  the  best  of  it,"  said  she. 
"But  I  will  bring  a  chair  and  sit  down,  while  you 
tell  me  the  news." 

"  Will  you  assume  all  responsibility  toward  Nino, 
signorina,  if  I  turn  so  that  I  can  see  you?"  I  asked, 
as  she  sat  down. 

"I  will  say  that  I  positively  ordered  you  to  do  so," 
she  answered,  gayly.  "  Now  look,  and  tell  me  where 
Sigrior  Cardegna  is  gone." 

I  looked  indeed,  and  it  was  long  before  I  looked 
away.  The  rest,  the  freedom,  and  the  happiness  had 
done  their  work  quickly,  in  spite  of  all  the  dreadful 
anxiety  and  fatigue.  The  fresh,  transparent  colour 
was  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  blue  eyes  were  clear  and 
bright.  The  statue  had  been  through  the  fire,  and 
was  made  a  living  thing,  beautiful,  and  breathing, 
and  real. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  the  light  dancing  in  her  eyes, 
"  where  is  he  gone  ?  " 

"He  is  gone  to  find  the  mayor  of  this  imposing 
capital,"  I  replied.  Hedwig  suddenly  blushed,  and 
turned  her  glistening  eyes  away.  She  was  beautiful 
so. 

"Are  you  very  tired,  signorina?  I  ought  not  to 
ask  the  question,  for  you  look  as  though  you  had1 
never  been  tired  in  your  life." 


824  A  ROMAN   SINGEK. 

There  is  no  saying  what  foolish  speeches  I  might 
have  made  had  not  Nino  returned.  He  was  radiant, 
and  I  anticipated  that  he  must  have  succeeded  in  his 
errand. 

"Ha!  Messer  Cornelio,  is  this  the  way  you  keep 
watch  ?  "  he  cried. 

"I  found  him  here,"  said  Hedwig  shyly,  "and  he 
would  not  even  glance  at  me  until  I  positively 
insisted  upon  it." 

Nino  laughed,  as  he  would  have  laughed  at  most 
things  in  that  moment,  for  sheer  superfluity  of  hap 
piness. 

"Signorina,"  he  said,  "would  it  be  agreeable  to 
you  to  walk  for  a  few  minutes  after  your  sleep  ?  The 
weather  is  wonderfully  fine,  and  I  am  sure  you  owe 
it  to  the  world  to  show  the  roses  which  rest  has  given 
you." 

Hedwig  blushed  softly,  and  I  went  away,  conceiv 
ing  that  I  had  kept  watch  long  enough.  But  Nino 
called  after  me,  as  he  moved  the  bench  from  the  door. 

"Messer  Cornelio,  will  you  not  come  with  us? 
Surely  you  need  a  walk  very  much,  and  we  can  ill  spare 
your  company.  My  lady,  let  me  offer  you  my  arm." 

In  this  manner  we  left  the  inn,  a  wedding  proces 
sion  which  could  not  have  been  much  smaller,  and 
the  singing  of  an  old  woman,  who  sat  with  her  dis 
taff  in  front  of  her  house,  was  the  wedding  march. 
Nino  seemed  in  no  great  haste,  I  thought,  and  I  let 
them  walk  as  they  would,  while  I  kept  soberly  in 
the  middle  of  the  road,  a  little  way  behind. 

It  was  not  far  that  we  had  to  go,  however,  and 
soon  we  came  to  a  large  brick  house,  with  an  uncom- 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  325 

monly  small  door,  over  which  hung  a  wooden  shield 
with  the  arms  of  Italy  brightly  painted  in  green  and 
red  and  white. 

Nino  and  Hedwig  entered  arm  in  arm,  and  I  slunk 
guiltily  in  after  them.  Hedwig  had  drawn  her  veil, 
which  was  the  only  head-dress  she  had,  close  about 
her  face. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  little  ceremony  was 
over,  and  the  registers  were  signed  by  us  all.  Nino 
also  got  a  stamped  certificate,  which  he  put  very  care 
fully  in  his  pocket-book.  I  never  knew  what  it  cost 
Nino  to  overcome  the  scruples  of  the  sindaco  about 
marrying  a  strange  couple  from  Rome  in  that  out 
landish  place,  where  the  peasants  stared  at  us  as 
though  we  had  been  the  most  unnatural  curiosities, 
and  even  the  pigs  in  the  street  jogged  sullenly  out 
of  our  way,  as  though  not  recognising  that  we  were 
human. 

At  all  events,  the  thing  was  done,  and  Hedwig 
von  Lira  became  for  the  rest  of  her  life  Edvigia  Car- 
degna.  And  I  felt  very  guilty.  The  pair  went 
down  the  steps  of  the  house  together  in  front  of  me, 
and  stopped  as  they  reached  the  street;  forgetting 
my  presence,  I  presume.  They  had  not  forgotten 
me  so  long  as  I  was  needed  to  be  of  use  to  them ;  but 
I  must  not  complain. 

"We  can  face  the  world  together  now,  my  dear 
lady,"  said  Nino,  as  he  drew  her  little  hand  through 
his  arm. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and  I  could  see  her  side 
face.  I  shall  never  forget  the  expression.  There 
was  in  it  something  I  really  never  saw  before,  which 


326  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

made  me  feel  as  though  I  were  in  church ;  and  I  knew 
then  that  there  was  no  wrong  in  helping  such  love  as 
that  to  its  fulfillment. 

By  the  activity  of  the  man  from  Subiaco,  a  curious 
conveyance  was  ready  for  us, being  something  between 
a  gig  and  a  cart,  and  a  couple  of  strong  horses  were 
hired  for  the  long  drive.  The  countryman,  who  had 
grown  rich  in  the  last  three  days,  offered  to  buy  the 
thin  little  ass  which  had  carried  me  so  far  and  so 
well.  He  observed  that  he  was  blind  of  one  eye, 
which  I  had  never  found  out,  and  I  do  not  believe  it 
was  true.  The  way  he  showed  it  was  by  snapping  his 
fingers  close  to  the  eye  in  question.  The  donkey 
winked,  and  the  countryman  said  that  if  the  eye  were 
good  the  beast  would  see  that  the  noise  was  made  by 
the  fingers,  and  would  not  be  frightened,  and  would 
therefore  not  wink. 

"You  see,"  said  he,  "he  thinks  it  is  a  whip  crack 
ing,  and  so  he  is  afraid." 

"  Do  donkeys  always  wink  when  they  are  fright 
ened?"  I  inquired.  "It  is  very  interesting." 

"Yes,"  said  the  countryman,  "they  mostly  do." 
At  all  events,  I  was  obliged  to  take  the  man's  own 
price,  which  was  little  enough  —  not  a  third  of  what 
I  had  given. 

The  roads  were  good,  and  the  long  and  the  short 
of  the  matter,  without  any  more  details,  is  that  we 
reached  Rome  very  early  the  next  morning,  having 
caught  the  night  train  from  Naples.  Hedwig  slept 
most  of  the  time  in  the  carriage  and  all  the  time  in 
the  train,  while  Nino,  who  seemed  never  to  tire  or  k) 
need  sleep,  sat  watching  her  with  wide,  happy  eyes. 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  327 

But  perhaps  he  slept  a  little,  too,  for  I  did,  and  I 
cannot  answer  for  his  wakefulness  through  every 
minute  of  the  night. 

Once  I  asked  him  what  he  intended  to  do  in  Rome. 

"We  will  go  to  the  hotel  Costanzi,"  he  answered, 
"which  is  a  foreigners'  resort.  And  if  she  is  rested 
enough  we  will  come  down  to  you,  and  see  what  we 
can  do  about  being  married  properly  in  church  by  the 
old  curato." 

"  The  marriage  by  the  sindaco  is  perfectly  legal,"  I 
remarked. 

"It  is  a  legal  contract,  but  it  is  not  a  marriage 
that  pleases  me,"  he  said  gravely. 

"But,  caro  mio,  without  offence,  your  bride  is  a 
Protestant,  a  Lutheran ;  not  to  mince  matters,  a  here 
tic.  They  will  make  objections." 

"She  is  an  angel,"  said  Nino,  with  great  convic 
tion. 

"  But  the  angels  neither  marry  nor  are  given  in 
marriage,"  I  objected,  arguing  the  point  to  pass  the 
time. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it,  then,  Messer  Cornelio?  " 
he  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"  Why,  as  a  heretic  she  ought  to  burn,  and  as  an 
angel  she  ought  not  to  marry." 

"It  is  better  to  marry  than  to  burn,"  retorted  Nino 
triumphantly. 

"  Diavolo !  Have  you  had  Saint  Paul  for  a  tutor  ?  " 
I  asked,  for  I  knew  the  quotation,  being  fond  of 
Greek. 

"  I  heard  a  preacher  cite  it  once  at  the  Gesu,  and  I 
thought  it  a  good  saying." 


328  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

Early  in  the  morning  we  rolled  into  the  great 
station  of  Rome,  and  took  an  affectionate  leave  of 
each  other,  with  the  promise  that  Hedwig  and  Nino 
should  visit  me  in  the  course  of  the  day.  I  saw  them 
into  a  carriage,  with  Nino's  small  portmanteau  and 
Hedwig's  bundle,  and  then  mounted  a  modest  omni 
bus  which  runs  from  the  Termini  to  St.  Peter's,  and 
goes  very  near  my  house. 

All  the  bells  were  ringing  gladly,  as  if  to  welcome 
us,  for  it  was  Easter  morning ;  and  though  it  is  not 
so  kept  as  it  used  to  be,  it  is  nevertheless  a  great 
feast.  Besides,  the  spring  was  at  hand,  and  the 
acacia-trees  in  the  great  square  were  budding,  though 
everything  was  still  so  backward  in  the  hills.  April 
was  coming,  which  the  foreigners  think  is  our  best 
month ;  but  I  prefer  June  and  July,  when  the  weather 
is  warm,  and  the  music  plays  in  the  Piazza  Colonna  of 
an  evening.  For  all  that,  April  is  a  glad  time,  after 
the  disagreeable  winter. 

There  was  with  me  much  peace  on  that  Easter  day, 
for  I  felt  that  my  dear  boy  was  safe  after  all  his  trou 
bles.  At  least,  he  was  safe  from  anything  that  could 
be  done  to  part  him  from  Hedwig ;  for  the  civil  laws 
are  binding,  and  Hedwig  was  of  the  age  when  a 
young  woman  is  legally  free  to  marry  whom  she 
pleases.  Of  course  old  Lira  might  still  make  him 
self  disagreeable,  but  I  fancied  him  too  much  a  man 
of  the  world  to  desire  a  scandal,  when  no  good  could 
follow.  The  one  shadow  in  the  future  was  the  anger 
of  Benoni,  who  would  be  certain  to  seek  some  sort  of 
revenge  for  the  repulse  he  had  suffered.  I  was  still 
ignorant  of  his  whereabouts,  not  yet  knowing  what  I 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  329 

knew  long  afterwards,  and  have  told  you,  because 
otherwise  you  would  have  been  as  much  in  the  dark 
as  he  was  himself,  when  Temistocle  cunningly  turned 
the  lock  of  the  staircase  door  and  left  him  to  his 
curses  and  his  meditations.  I  have  had  much  secret 
joy  in  thinking  what  a  wretched  night  he  must  have 
passed  there,  and  how  his  long  limbs  must  have 
ached  with  sitting  about  on  the  stones,  and  how 
hoarse  he  must  have  been  from  the  dampness  and  the 
swearing. 

I  reached  home,  the  dear  old  number  twenty-seven 
in  Santa  Catarina  dei  Funari,  by  half  past  seven,  or 
even  earlier;  and  I  was  glad  when  I  rang  the  bell  on 
the  landing,  and  called  through  the  keyhole  in  my 
impatience. 

"Mariuccia,  Mariuccia,  come  quickly!  It  is  I!" 
I  cried. 

"  O  Madonna  mia!  "  I  heard  her  exclaim,  and  there 
was  a  tremendous  clatter,  as  she  dropped  the  coffee 
pot.  She  was  doubtless  brewing  herself  a  quiet  cup 
with  my  best  Porto  Rico,  which  I  do  not  allow  her 
to  use.  She  thought  I  was  never  coming  back,  the 
cunning  old  hag! 

"Dio  mio,  Signor  Professore!  A  good  Easter  to 
you  I  "  she  cried,  as  I  heard  the  flat  pattering  of  her 
old  feet  inside,  running  to  the  door.  "I  thought 
the  wolves  had  eaten  you,  padrone  mio!  "  And  at 
last  she  let  me  in. 


330  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"A  TALL  gentleman  came  here  late  last  night, 
Signer  Professore,"  said  Mariuccia,  as  I  sat  down  in 
the  old  green  armchair.  "He  seemed  very  angry 
about  something  and  said  he  must  positively  see  you." 
The  idea  of  Benoni  flashed  uneasily  across  my  brain. 

"  Was  he  the  grave  signore  who  came  a  few  days 
before  Heft?"  I  asked. 

"  Heaven  preserve  us ! "  ejaculated  Mariuccia. 
"  This  one  was  much  older,  and  seemed  to  be  lame  ; 
for  when  he  tried  to  shake  his  stick  at  me,  he  could 
not  stand  without  it.  He  looked  like  one  of  the 
old  Swiss  guards  at  Palazzo."  By  which  she  meant 
the  Vatican,  as  you  know. 

"  It  must  have  been  the  count,"  I  said,  thinking 
aloud. 

"A  count!  A  pretty  sort  of  count,  indeed,  to 
come  waking  people  from  their  beds  in  the  night ! 
He  had  not  even  a  high  hat  like  the  one  you  wear 
when  you  go  to  the  university.  A  count,  indeed  !  " 

"  Go  and  make  me  some  good  coffee,  Mariuccia," 
I  said,  eyeing  her  severely  to  show  that  I  suspected 
her  of  having  used  mine  ;  "  and  be  careful  to  make  it 
of  my  best  Porto  Rico,  if  you  have  any  left,  without 
any  chicory." 

"  A  count,  indeed !  "  she  muttered  angrily  as  she 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  331 

hobbled  away,  not  in  the  least  heeding  my  last  re 
mark,  which  I  believed  to  be  withering. 

I  had  not  much  time  for  reflection  that  morning. 
My  old  clothes  were  in  tatters,  and  the  others  looked 
very  fine  by  contrast,  so  that  when  I  had  made  my 
toilet  I  felt  better  able  to  show  myself  to  the  dis 
tinguished  company  I  expected.  I  had  seen  so  much 
extraordinary  endurance  in  Nino  and  He d wig  during 
the  last  two  or  three  days  that  I  was  prepared  to  see 
them  appear  at  any  moment,  brushed  and  curled  and 
ready  for  anything.  The  visit  of  the  count,  however, 
had  seriously  disturbed  me,  and  I  hardly  knew  what 
to  look  for  from  him.  As  it  turned  out  I  had  not 
long  to  wait. 

I  was  resting  myself  in  the  armchair,  and  smoking 
one  of  those  infamous  cigars  which  nearly  suffocate 
me,  just  for  company,  and  I  was  composing  in  my 
mind  a  letter  to  the  authorities  of  the  university, 
requesting  that  I  might  begin  to  lecture  again.  I 
did  not  find  out  until  later  that  I  need  not  have 
written  to  them  at  all  when  I  went  away,  as  ten 
days  are  always  allowed  at  Easter,  in  any  case.  It 
is  just  like  my  forgetfulness,  to  have  made  such  a 
mistake.  I  really  only  missed  four  lectures.  But 
my  composition  was  interrupted  by  the  door-bell,  and 
my  heart  sank  in  my  breast.  Mariuccia  opened,  and 
I  knew  by  the  sound  of  the  stick  on  the  bricks  that 
the  lame  count  had  come  to  wreak  his  vengeance. 

Being  much  frightened,  I  was  very  polite,  and 
bowed  a  great  many  times  as  he  came  toward  me. 
It  was  he,  looking  much  the  same  as  ever,  wooden 
and  grizzly. 


332  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

"I  am  much  honoured,  sir,"  I  began,  "by  seeing 
you  here." 

"You  are  Signor  Grand! ?"  he  inquired  with  a 
stiff  bow. 

"  The  same,  Signor  Conte,  and  very  much  at  your 
service,"  I  answered,  rubbing  my  hands  together  to 
give  myself  an  air  of  satisfaction. 

"Let  us  not  waste  time,"  he  said  severely,  but 
not  roughly.  "I  have  come  to  you  on  business. 
My  daughter  has  disappeared  with  your  son,  or 
whatever  relation  the  Signor  Giovanni  Cardegna  is 
to  you." 

"He  is  no  relation,  Signor  Conte.  He  was  an 
orphan,  and  I "  — 

"It  is  the  same,"  he  interrupted.  "You  are  re 
sponsible  for  his  doings." 

I  responsible !  Good  heavens !  Had  I  not  done 
all  in  my  power  to  prevent  the  rashness  of  that 
hot-headed  boy? 

"  Will  you  not  sit  down,  sir  ? "  I  said,  moving  a 
chair  for  him.  He  took  the  seat  rather  reluctantly. 

"  You  do  not  seem  much  astonished  at  what  I  tell 
you,"  he  remarked.  "  It  is  evident  that  you  are  in 
the  plot." 

"  Unless  you  inform  me  of  what  you  know,  Signor 
Conte,"  I  replied  with  urbanity,  "  I  cannot  see  how 
I  can  be  of  service  to  you." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  he,  "  I  am  tne  person  to 
ask  questions.  I  wake  up  in  the  morning  and  find 
my  daughter  gone.  I  naturally  inquire  where  she  is." 

"  Most  naturally,  as  you  say,  sir.     I  should  do  the 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  333 

"And  you,  also  very  naturally,  answer  my  ques 
tions,"  he  continued  severely. 

"In  that  case,  sir,"  I  replied,  "I  would  call  to 
your  attention  the  fact  that  you  have  asked  but  one 
question,  —  whether  I  were  Signer  Grandi.  I  an 
swered  that  in  the  affirmative." 

You  see  I  was  apprehensive  of  what  he  might  do, 
and  desired  to  gain  time.  But  he  began  to  lose  his 
temper. 

"  I  have  no  patience  with  you  Italians,"  he  said 
gruffly ;  "  you  bandy  words  and  play  with  them  as  if 
you  enjoyed  it." 

Diavolo !  thought  I ;  he  is  angry  at  my  silence. 
What  will  he  be  if  I  speak  ? 

"What  do  you  wish  to  know,  Signor  Conte?"  I 
inquired  in  suave  tones. 

"  I  wish  to  know  where  my  daughter  is.  Where 
is  she  ?  Do  you  understand  ?  I  am  asking  a  ques 
tion  now,  and  you  cannot  deny  it." 

I  was  sitting  in  front  of  him,  but  I  rose  and  pre 
tended  to  shut  the  door,  thus  putting  the  table  and 
the  end  of  the  piano  between  us,  before  I  answered. 

"She  is  in  Rome,  Signor  Conte,"  I  said. 

"  With  Cardegna  ? "  he  asked,  not  betraying  any 
emotion. 

"Yes." 

"Very  well.  I  will  have  them  arrested  at  once. 
That  is  all  I  wanted."  He  put  his  crutch  stick  to 
the  floor  as  though  about  to  rise.  Seeing  that  his 
anger  was  not  turned  against  me,  I  grew  bold. 

"  You  had  better  not  do  that,"  I  mildly  observed, 
across  the  table. 


834  A   ROMAN   SINGEK. 

"And  why  not,  sir?"  he  asked  quickly,  hesitat 
ing  whether  to  get  upon  his  feet  or  to  remain  seated. 

"Because  they  are  married  already,"  I  answered, 
retreating  toward  the  door. 

But  there  was  no  need  for  flight.  lie  sank  back 
in  the  chair,  and  the  stick  fell  from  his  hands  upon 
the  bricks  with  a  loud  rattle.  Poor  old  man !  I 
thought  he  was  quite  overcome  by  the  news  I  had 
communicated.  He  sat  staring  at  the  window,  his 
hands  lying  idly  on  his  knees.  I  moved  to  come 
toward  him,  but  he  raised  one  hand  and  began  to 
twirl  his  great  grey  moustache  fiercely;  whereat  I 
resumed  my  former  position  of  safety. 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ? "  he  demanded  on  a 
sudden. 

"I  was  present  at  the  civil  marriage  yesterday,"  I 
answered,  feeling  very  much  scared.  He  began  to 
notice  my  manoauvre. 

"  You  need  not  be  so  frightened,"  he  said  coldly. 
"It  would  be  of  no  use  to  kill  any  of  you  now, 
though  I  should  like  to." 

"  I  assure  you  that  no  one  ever  frightened  me  in 
my  own  house,  sir,"  I  answered.  I  think  my  voice 
must  have  sounded  very  bold,  for  he  did  not  laugh  at 
me. 

"I  suppose  it  is  irrevocable,"  he  said,  as  if  to 
himself. 

"  Oh,  yes,  —  perfectly  irrevocable,"  I  answered 
promptly.  "  They  are  married,  and  have  come  back 
to  Rome.  They  are  at  the  hotel  Costanzi.  I  am 
sure  that  Nino  would  give  you  every  explanation." 

"  Who  is  Nino  ?  "  he  asked. 


A    KOMAN    SINGER.  335 

"  Nino  Cardegna,  of  course  "  — 

"And  do  you  foolishly  imagine  that  I  am  going 
to  ask  him  to  explain  why  he  took  upon  himself 
to  carry  away  my  daughter?"  The  question  was 
scornful  enough. 

"  Signor  Conte,"  I  protested,  "you  would  do  well 
to  see  them,  for  she  is  your  daughter,  after  all." 

"She  is  not  my  daughter  any  longer,"  growled 
the  count.  "She  is  married  to  a  singer,  a  tenor, 
an  Italian  with  curls  and  lies  and  grins,  as  you  all 
have.  Fie  ! "  And  he  pulled  his  moustache  again. 

"  A  singer,"  said  I,  "  if  you  like,  but  a  great  singer, 
and  an  honest  man." 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  come  here  to  listen  to  your  praises 
of  that  scoundrel !  "  he  exclaimed  hotly.  "  I  have 
seen  enough  of  him  to  be  sick  of  him." 

"I  wish  he  were  in  this  room  to  hear  you  call 
him  by  such  names,"  I  said;  for  I  began  to  grow 
angry,  as  I  sometimes  do,  and  then  my  fear  grows 
small  and  my  heart  grows  big. 

"Ah?"  said  he  ironically.  "And  pray,  what 
would  he  do  to  me  ?  " 

"  He  would  probably  ask  you  again  for  that  pistol 
you  refused  to  lend  him  the  other  day." 

I  thought  I  might  as  well  show  that  I  knew  all 
about  the  meeting  in  the  road.  But  Lira  laughed 
grimly,  and  the  idea  of  a  fight  seemed  to  please 
him. 

"  I  should  not  refuse  it  this  time.  In  fact,  since 
you  mention  it,  I  think  I  will  go  and  offer  it  to  him 
now.  Do  you  think  I  should  be  justified,  Master 
Censor?" 


336  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

"No,"  said  I,  coming  forward  and  facing  him. 
"  But  if  you  like  you  can  fight  me.  I  am  your  own 
age,  and  a  better  match."  I  would  have  fought 
him  then  and  there,  with  the  chairs,  if  he  had  liked. 

"  Why  should  I  fight  you  ?  "  he  inquired,  in  some 
astonishment.  "  You  strike  me  as  a  very  peaceable 
person  indeed." 

"Diavolo!  do  you  expect  me  to  stand  quietly 
and  hear  you  call  my  boy  a  scoundrel?  What  do 
you  take  me  for,  signore?  Do  you  know  that  I 
am  the  last  of  the  Conti  Grandi,  and  as  noble  as  any 
of  you,  and  as  fit  to  fight,  though  my  hair  is  grey  ?  " 

"  I  knew,  indeed,  that  one  member  of  that  illustri 
ous  family  survived  in  Rome,"  he  answered  gravely, 
"  but  I  was  not  aware  that  you  were  he.  I  am  glad 
to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  I  sincerely  wish 
that  you  were  the  father  of  the  young  man  who  has 
married  my  daughter.  If  you  were,  I  should  be 
ready  to  arrange  matters."  He  looked  at  me  search- 
ingly. 

"  Unfortunately,  I  am  not  any  relation  of  his," 
I  answered.  "  His  father  and  mother  were  peasants 
on  my  estate  of  Serveti,  when  it  was  still  mine. 
They  died  when  he  was  a  baby,  and  I  took  care  of 
him  and  educated  him." 

"Yes,  he  is  well  educated,"  reflected  the  count, 
"for  I  examined  him  myself.  Let  us  talk  no  more 
about  fighting.  You  are  quite  sure  that  the  marriage 
is  legal." 

"Quite  certain.  You  can  do  nothing,  and  any 
attempt  would  be  a  useless  scandal.  Besides,  they 
are  so  happy,  you  do  not  know." 


A  ROMAN   SINGER.  337 

"  So  happy,  are  they  ?  Do  you  think  I  am  happy, 
too?" 

"  A  man  has  every  reason  to  be  so,  when  his  daugh 
ter  marries  an  honest  man.  It  is  a  piece  of  good  luck 
that  does  not  happen  often." 

"  Probably  from  the  scarcity  of  daughters  who  are 
willing  to  drive  their  fathers  to  distraction  by  their 
disobedience  and  contempt  of  authority,"  he  said 
savagely. 

"No,  —  from  the  scarcity  of  honest  men,"  I  said. 
"  Nino  is  a  very  honest  man.  You  may  go  from  one 
end  of  Italy  to  the  other,  and  not  meet  one  like  him." 

"  I  sincerely  hope  so,"  growled  Lira.  "  Otherwise 
Italy  would  be  as  wholly  unredeemed  and  unredeem 
able  as  you  pretend  that  some  parts  of  it  are  now. 
But  I  will  tell  you,  Conte  Grandi,  you  cannot  walk 
across  the  street,  in  my  country,  without  meeting  a 
dozen  men  who  would  tremble  at  the  idea  of  such 
depravity  as  an  elopement." 

"Our  ideas  of  honesty  differ,  sir,"  I  replied. 
"When  a  man  loves  a  woman,  I  consider  it  honest 
in  him  to  act  as  though  he  did,  and  not  to  go  and 
marry  another  for  consolation,  beating  her  with  a 
thick  stick  whenever  he  chances  to  think  of  the  first. 
That  seems  to  be  the  northern  idea  of  domestic  felic 
ity."  Lira  laughed  gruffly,  supposing  that  my  picture 
was  meant  for  a  jest.  "  I  am  glad  you  are  amused," 
I  added. 

"Upon  my  honour,  sir,"  he  replied,  "you  are  so 
vastly  amusing  that  I  am  half  inclined  to  forgive  my 
daughter's  rashness,  for  the  sake  of  enjoying  your 
company.  First  you  intrench  yourself  behind  your 


338  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

furniture ;  then  you  propose  to  fight  me ;  and  now 
you  give  me  the  most  original  views  upon  love  anc 
marriage  that  I  ever  heard.  Indeed,  I  have  cause  to 
be  amused." 

"  I  am  happy  to  oblige  you,"  I  said  tartly ;  for  I 
did  not  like  his  laughter.  "  So  long  as  you  confine 
your  amusement  to  me,  I  am  satisfied ;  but  pray  avoid 
using  any  objectionable  language  about  Nino." 

"  Then  my  only  course  is  to  avoid  the  subject  ?  " 

"  Precisely,"  I  replied,  with  much  dignity. 

"  In  that  case  I  will  go,"  he  said. 

I  was  immensely  relieved,  for  his  presence  was  most 
unpleasant,  as  you  may  readily  guess.  He  got  upon 
his  feet,  and  I  showed  him  to  the  door  with  all  cour 
tesy.  I  expected  that  he  would  say  something  about 
the  future  before  leaving  me,  but  I  was  mistaken. 
He  bowed  in  silence,  and  stumped  down  the  steps 
with  his  stick. 

I  sank  into  my  armchair  with  a  great  sigh  of  relief, 
for  I  felt  that,  for  me  at  least,  the  worst  was  over. 
I  had  faced  the  infuriated  father,  and  I  might  now 
face  anybody  with  the  consciousness  of  power.  I 
always  feel  conscious  of  great  power  when  the  danger 
is  past.  Once  more  I  lit  my  cigar,  and  stretched  my 
self  out  to  take  some  rest.  The  constant  strain  on 
the  nerves  was  becoming  very  wearing,  and  I  knew 
well  that  on  the  morrow  I  should  need  bleeding  and 
mallows  tea.  Hardly  was  I  settled  and  comfortable 
when  I  heard  that  dreadful  bell  again. 

"  This  is  the  day  of  the  resurrection  indeed,"  cried 
Mariuccia  frantically  from  the  kitchen. 

And  she  hurried  to  the  door.     But  I  cannot  de- 


A   110MAN   SINGER.  339 

scribe  to  you  the  screams  of  joy  and  the  strange 
sounds,  between  laughing  and  crying,  which  her  leath 
ern  throat  produced  when  she  found  Nino  and  Hed- 
wig  on  the  landing,  waiting  for  admission.  And  when 
Nino  explained  that  he  had  been  married,  and  that 
this  beautiful  lady  with  the  bright  eyes  and  the  golden 
hair  was  his  wife,  the  old  woman  fairly  gave  way,  and 
sat  upon  a  chair  in  an  agony  of  amazement  and  ad 
miration.  But  the  pair  came  toward  me,  and  I  met 
them  with  a  light  heart. 

"  Nino,"  said  Hedwig,  "  we  have  not  been  nearly 
grateful  enough  to  Signor  Grandi  for  all  he  has  done. 
I  have  been  very  selfish,"  she  said  penitently,  turning 
to  me. 

"  Ah  no,  signora,"  I  replied,  —  for  she  was  mar 
ried  now,  and  no  longer  "  signoriria,"  —  "  it  is  never 
selfish  of  such  as  you  to  let  an  old  man  do  you  ser 
vice.  You  have  made  me  very  happy."  And  then  I 
embraced  Nino,  and  Hedwig  gave  me  her  hand,  which 
I  kissed  in  the  old  fashion. 

"  And  so  this  is  your  old  home,  Nino,"  said  Hed 
wig  presently,  looking  about  her,  and  touching  the 
things  in  the  room,  as  a  woman  will  when  she  makes 
acquaintance  with  a  place  she  has  often  heard  of. 
"What  a  dear  room  it  is!  I  wish  we  could  live 
here  !  "  How  very  soon  a  woman  learns  that  "  we  " 
that  means  so  much !  It  is  never  forgotten,  even 
when  the  love  that  bred  it  is  dead  and  cold. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  for  Nino  seemed  so  enraptured,  as 
he  watched  her,  that  he  could  not  speak.  "And 
there  is  the  old  piano,  with  the  end  on  the  boxes, 
because  it  has  no  leg,  as  I  dare  say  Nino  has  often 
told  you." 


340  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"Nino  said  it  was  a  very  good  piano,"  said  she. 

"  And  indeed  it  is,"  he  cried,  with  enthusiasm.  "  It 
is  out  of  tune  now,  perhaps ;  but  it  is  the  source  of 
all  my  fortune."  He  leaned  over  the  crazy  instru 
ment  and  seemed  to  caress  it. 

"  Poor  old  thing !  "  said  He d wig  compassionately. 
"I  am  sure  there  is  music  in  it  still,  —  the  sweet 
music  of  the  past." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  it  must  be  the  music  of 
the  past,  for  it  would  not  stand  the  'music  of  the 
future/  as  they  call  it,  for  five  minutes.  All  the 
strings  would  break." 

Hedwig  sat  down  on  the  chair  before  it,  and  her 
fingers  went  involuntarily  to  the  keys,  though  she  is 
no  great  musician. 

"  I  can  play  a  little,  you  know,  Nino,"  she  said 
shyly,  and  looked  up  to  his  face  for  a  response,  not 
venturing  to  strike  the  chords. 

And  it  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  how 
brightly  Nino  smiled  and  encouraged  her  little  offer 
of  music,  —  he,  the  great  artist,  in  whose  life  music 
was  both  sword  and  sceptre.  But  he  knew  that 
she  had  greatness  also  of  a  different  kind,  and  he 
loved  the  small  jewels  in  his  crown  as  well  as  the 
glorious  treasures  of  its  larger  wealth. 

"Play  to  me,  my  love,"  he  said,  not  caring  now 
whether  I  heard  the  sweet  words  or  not. 

She  blushed  a  little,  nevertheless,  and  glanced  at 
me ;  then  her  fingers  strayed  over  the  keys,  and 
drew  out  music  that  was  very  soft  and  yet  very  gay. 
Suddenly  she  ceased,  and  leaned  forward  on  the  desk 
of  the  piano,  looking  at  him. 


A  KOMAN   SINGER.  341 

"Do  you  know,  Nino,  it. was  once  my  dream  to  be 
a  great  musician.  If  I  had  not  been  so  rich  I  should 
have  taken  the  profession  in  earnest.  But  now,  you 
see  it  is  different,  is  it  not?  " 

"Yes,  it  is  all  different  now,"  he  answered,  not 
knowing  exactly  what  she  meant,  but  radiantly 
happy,  all  the  same. 

"I  mean,"  she  said,  hesitating — "I  mean  that 
now  that  we  are  to  be  always  together,  what  you 
do  I  do,  and  what  I  do  you  do.  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

"  Yes,  perfectly,"  replied  Nino,  rather  puzzled,  but 
quite  satisfied. 

"  Ah  no,  dear,"  said  she,  forgetting  my  presence, 
and  letting  her  hand  steal  into  his  as  he  stood,  "  you 
do  not  understand  —  quite.  I  mean  that  so  long  as 
one  of  us  can  be  a  great  musician  it  is  enough,  and  I 
am  just  as  great  as  though  I  did  it  all  myself." 

Thereupon  Nino  forgot  himself  altogether,  and 
kissed  her  golden  hair.  But  then  he  saw  me  look 
ing,  for  it  was  so  pretty  a  sight  that  I  could  not  help 
it,  and  he  remembered. 

"  Oh ! "  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  embarrassment,  I  had 
never  heard  before. 

Then  Hedwig  blushed  very  much,  too,  and  looked 
away,  and  Nino  put  himself  between  her  and  me,  so 
that  I  might  not  see  her. 

"  Could  you  play  something  for  me  to  sing,  Hed 
wig  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  can  play  '  Spirto  gentil,'  by  heart," 
she  cried,  hailing  the  idea  with  delight. 

In  a  moment  they  were  both  lost,  and  indeed  so 


342  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

was  I,  in  the  dignity  and  beauty  of  the  simple  mel 
ody.  As  he  began  to  sing,  Nino  bent  down  to  her, 
and  almost  whispered  the  first  words  into  her  ear. 
But  soon  he  stood  erect,  and  let  the  music  flow  from 
his  lips,  just  as  God  made  it.  His  voice  was  tired 
with  the  long  watching  and  the  dust  and  cold  and 
heat  of  the  journey ;  but,  as  De  Pretis  said  when  he 
began,  he  has  an  iron  throat,  and  the  weariness  only 
made  the  tones  soft  and  tender  and  thrilling,  that 
would  perhaps  have  been  too  strong  for  my  little 
room. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  a  note, 
and  gazed  open-mouthed  at  the  door.  And  I  looked, 
too,  and  was  horrified;  and  Hedwig,  looking  also, 
screamed  and  sprang  back  to  the  window,  over 
turning  the  chair  she  had  sat  on. 

In  the  doorway  stood  Ahasuerus  Benoni,  the  Jew. 

Mariuccia  had  imprudently  forgotten  to  shut  the 
door  when  Hedwig  and  Nino  came,  and  the  baron 
had  walked  in  unannounced.  You  may  imagine  the 
fright  I  was  in.  But,  after  all,  it  was  natural 
enough  that,  after  what  had  occurred,  he  as  well 
as  the  count  should  seek  an  interview  with  me,  to 
obtain  what  information  I  was  willing  to  give. 

There  he  stood  in  his  gay  clothes,  tall  and  thin 
and  smiling  as  of  yore, 


A  EOMAN   SIJSTGEK.  343 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

NINO  is  a  man  for  great  emergencies,  as  I  have 
had  occasion  to  say,  and  when  he  realised  who  the 
unwelcome  visitor  was,  he  acted  as  promptly  as 
usual.  With  a  face  like  marble  he  walked  straight 
across  the  room  to  Benoni  and  faced  him. 

"  Baron  Benoni,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  warn 
you  that  you  are  most  unwelcome  here.  If  you 
attempt  to  say  any  word  to  my  wife,  or  to  force 
an  entrance,  I  will  make  short  work  of  you." 

Benoni  eyed  him  with  a  sort  of  pitying  curiosity 
as  he  made  this  speech. 

"Do  not  fear,  Signor  Cardegna.  I  came  to  see 
Signor  Grandi,  and  to  ascertain  from  him  precisely 
what  you  have  volunteered  to  tell  me.  You  cannot 
suppose  that  I  have  any  object  in  interrupting  the 
leisure  of  a  great  artist,  or  the  privacy  of  his  very 
felicitous  domestic  relations.  I  have  not  a  great 
deal  to  say.  That  is,  I  have  always  a  great  deal  to 
say  about  everything,  but  I  shall  at  present  confine 
myself  to  a  very  little." 

"  You  will  be  wise,"  said  Nino,  "  and  you  would 
be  wiser  if  you  confined  yourself  to  nothing  at  all." 

"Patience,  Signor  Cardegna,"  protested  Benoni. 
"  You  will  readily  conceive  that  I  am  a  little  out  of 
breath  with  the  stairs,  for  I  am  a  very  old  man." 


344  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

"  In  that  case,"  I  said,  from  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  "  I  may  as  well  occupy  your  breathing  time  by 
telling  you  that  any  remarks  you  are  likely  to  make 
to  me  have  been  forestalled  by  the  Graf  von  Lira, 
who  has  been  with  me  this  morning." 

Benoni  smiled,  but  both  Hedwig  and  Nino  looked 
at  me  in  surprise. 

"  I  only  wished  to  say,"  returned  Benoni,  "  that  I 
consider  you  in  the  light  of  an  interesting  phenome 
non.  Nay,  Signor  Cardegna,  do  not  look  so  fierce. 
I  am  an  old  man  "  — 

"  An  old  devil ! "  said  Nino,  hotly. 

"An  old  fool!"  said  I. 

"  An  old  reprobate  !  "  said  Hedwig,  from  her  cor 
ner,  in  deepest  indignation. 

"  Precisely,"  returned  Benoni,  smilingly.  "  Many 
people  have  been  good  enough  to  tell  me  so  before. 
Thanks,  kind  friends ;  I  believe  you  with  all  my 
heart.  Meanwhile,  man,  devil,  fool,  or  reprobate, 
I  am  very  old.  I  am  about  to  leave  Rome  for  St. 
Petersburg,  and  I  will  take  this  last  opportunity  of 
informing  you  that  in  a  very  singularly  long  life  I 
have  met  with  only  two  or  three  such  remarkable 
instances  as  this  of  yours." 

"  Say  what  you  wish  to  say,  and  go,"  said  Nino 
roughly. 

"  Certainly.  And  whenever  I  have  met  with  such 
an  instance  I  have  done  my  very  utmost  to  reduce 
it  to  the  common  level,  and  to  prove  to  myself  that 
no  such  thing  really  exists.  I  find  it  a  dangerous 
thing,  however ;  for  an  old  man  in  love  is  likely  to 
exhibit  precisely  the  agreeable  and  striking  peculiar 
ities  you  have  so  aptly  designated." 


A  ROMAN   SINGEK.  345 

There  was  something  so  odd  about  his  manner  and 
about  the  things  he  said  that  Nino  was  silent,  and 
allowed  him  to  proceed. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  continued,  "  that  love  is  a  very 
rare  thing,  nowadays,  and  is  so  very  generally  an 
abominable  sham  that  I  have  often  amused  myself 
by  diabolically  devising  plans  for  its  destruction. 
On  this  occasion  I  very  nearly  came  to  grief  myself. 
The  same  thing  happened  to  me  some  time  ago,  — 
about  forty  years,  I  should  say,  —  and  I  perceive  that 
it  has  not  been  forgotten.  It  may  amuse  you  to  look 
at  this  paper,  which  I  chance  to  have  with  me.  Good- 
morning.  I  leave  for  St.  Petersburg  at  once." 

"  I  believe  you  are  really  the  Wandering  Jew  1  " 
cried  Nino,  as  Benoni  left  the  room. 

"  His  name  was  certainly  Ahasuerus,"  Benoni  re 
plied  from  the  outer  door.  "  But  it  may  be  a  coinci 
dence,  after  all.  Good-bye."  He  was  gone. 

I  was  the  first  to  take  up  the  paper  he  had  thrown 
upon  a  chair.  There  was  a  passage  marked  with  a 
red  pencil.  I  read  it  aloud  :  — 

"...  Baron  Benoni,  the  wealthy  banker  of  St. 
Petersburg,  who  was  many  years  ago  an  inmate  of 
a  private  lunatic  asylum  in  Paris,  is  reported  to  be 
dangerously  insane  in  Rome."  That  was  all.  The 
paper  was  the  Paris  "  Figaro." 

"  Merciful  Heaven  !  "  exclaimed  Hedwig,  "  and  I 
was  shut  up  with  that  madman  in  Fillettino  I  " 

Nino  was  already  by  her  side,  and  in  his  strong 
arms  she  forgot  Benoni,  and  Fillettino,  and  all  her 
troubles.  We  were  all  silent  for  some  time.  At 
last  Nino  spoke. 


346  A   ROMAN   SINGER. 

"Is  it  true  that  the  count  was  here  this  morning?" 
he  asked,  in  a  subdued  voice,  for  the  extraordinary 
visit  and  its  sequel  had  made  him  grave. 

"  Quite  true,"  I  said.  "  He  was  here  a  long  time. 
I  would  not  spoil  your  pleasure  by  telling  you  of  it, 
when  you  first  came." 

"  What  did  he  —  what  did  my  father  say  ?  "  asked 
Hedwig  presently. 

"  My  dear  children,"  I  answered,  thinking  I  might 
well  call  them  so,  "  he  said  a  great  many  unpleasant 
things,  so  that  I  offered  to  fight  him  if  he  said  any 
more." 

At  this  they  both  laid  hold  of  me  and  began  to 
caress  me ;  and  one  smoothed  my  hair,  and  the  other 
embraced  me,  so  that  I  was  half  smothered. 

"Dear  Signor  Grandi,"  cried  Hedwig  anxiously, 
"  how  good  and  brave  you  are  ! " 

She  does  not  know  what  a  coward  I  am,  you  see, 
and  I  hope  she  will  never  find  it  out,  for  nothing  was 
ever  said  to  me  that  gave  me  half  so  much  pleasure 
as  to  be  called  brave  by  her,  the  dear  child ;  and  if 
she  never  finds  out,  she  may  say  it  again,  some  day. 
Besides,  I  really  did  offer  to  fight  Lira,  as  I  have 
told  you. 

"  And  what  is  he  going  to  do  ?  "  asked  Nino,  in 
some  anxiety. 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  told  him  it  was  all  legal,  and 
that  he  could  not  touch  you  at  all.  I  also  said  you 
were  staying  at  the  hotel  Costanzi,  where  he  might 
find  you,  if  he  wished." 

"  Oh !     Did  you  tell  him  that  ?  "  asked  Hedwig. 

"It   was    quite   right,"    said    Nino.      "He   ought 


A   ROMAN   SINGER.  347 

to  know,  of  course.  And  what  else  did  you  tell 
him?" 

"Nothing  especial,  Nino  mio.  He  went  away  in 
a  sort  of  ill  temper  because  I  would  not  let  him 
abuse  you  as  much  as  he  pleased." 

"  He  may  abuse  me  and  be  welcome,"  said  Nino. 
"  He  has  some  right  to  be  angry  with  me.  But  he 
will  think  differently  some  day." 

So  we  chatted  away  for  an  hour,  enjoying  the 
rest  and  the  peace  and  the  sweet  sunshine  of  the 
Easter  afternoon.  But  this  was  the  day  of  inter 
ruptions.  There  was  one  more  visitor  to  come, — 
one  more  scene  for  me  to  tell  you,  and  then  I  have 
done. 

A  carriage  drove  down  the  street  and  seemed  to 
stop  at  the  door  of  my  house.  Nino  looked  idly  out 
of  the  window.  Suddenly  he  started. 

"  Hedwig,  Hedwig !  "  he  cried,  "  here  is  your  father 
coming  back ! " 

She  would  not  look  out,  but  stood  back  from  the 
window,  turning  pale.  If  there  were  one  thing  she 
dreaded,  it  was  a  meeting  with  her  father.  All  the 
old  doubt  as  to  whether  she  had  done  right  seemed 
to  come  back  to  her  face  in  a  moment.  But  Nino 
turned  and  looked  at  her,  and  his  face  was  so  trium 
phant  that  she  got  back  her  courage,  and  clasping 
his  hand  bravely  awaited  what  was  to  come. 

I  myself  went  to  the  door,  and  heard  Lira's  slow 
tread  on  the  stairs.  Before  long  he  appeared,  and 
glanced  up  at  me  from  the  steps,  which  he  climbed, 
one  at  a  time,  with  his  stick. 

"  Is  my  daughter  here  ? "  he  asked  as  soon  as  he 


348  A  KOMAN   SINGER. 

reached  me ;    and  his  voice  sounded  subdued,  just 
as  Nino's  did  when  Benoni  had  gone. 

I  conducted  him  into  the  room.  It  was  the 
strangest  meeting.  The  proud  old  man  bowed 
stiffly  to  Hedwig,  as  though  he  had  never  before 
seen  her.  Nino  and  Hedwig  also  bent  their  heads, 
and  there  was  a  silence  as  of  death  in  the  sunny 
room. 

"My  daughter,"  said  Von  Lira  at  last,  and  with 
evident  effort,  "I  wish  to  have  a  word  with  you. 
These  two  gentlemen  —  the  younger  of  whom  is  now, 
as  I  understand  it,  your  husband  —  may  well  hear 
what  I  wish  to  say." 

I  moved  a  chair  so  that  he  might  sit  down,  but  he 
stood  up  to  his  full  height,  as  though  not  deigning 
to  be  older  than  the  rest.  I  watched  Hedwig,  and 
saw  how  with  both  hands  she  clung  to  Nino's  arm, 
and  her  lip  trembled,  and  her  face  wore  the  look  it 
had  when  I  saw  her  in  Fillettino. 

As  for  Nino,  his  stern,  square  jaw  was  set,  and  his 
brows  bent,  but  he  showed  no  emotion,  unless  the 
darkness  in  his  face  and  the  heavy  shadows  beneath 
his  eyes  foretold  ready  anger. 

"I  am  no  trained  reasoner,  like  Signer  Grandi," 
said  Lira,  looking  straight  at  Hedwig,  "but  I  can  say 
plainly  what  I  mean,  for  all  that.  There  was  a  good 
old  law  in  Sparta,  whereby  disobedient  children  were 
put  to  death  without  mercy.  Sparta  was  a  good 
country,  —  very  like  Prussia,  but  less  great.  You 
know  what  I  mean.  You  have  cruelly  disobeyed  me, 
—  cruelly,  I  say,  because  you  have  shown  me  that 
all  my  pains  and  kindness  and  discipline  have  been 


A  EOMAN  SINGER.  349 

in  vain.  There  is  nothing  so  sorrowful  for  a  good 
parent  as  to  discover  that  he  has  made  a  mistake." 

The  canting  old  proser,  I  thought,  will  he  never 
finish ! 

"  The  mistake  I  refer  to  is  not  in  the  way  I  have 
dealt  with  you,"  he  went  on,  "  for  on  that  score  I 
have  nothing  to  reproach  myself.  But  I  was  mis 
taken  in  supposing  you  loved  me.  You  have  de 
spised  all  I  have  done  for  you." 

"  Oh,  father !  How  can  you  say  that  ?  "  cried  poor 
Hedwig,  clinging  closer  to  Nino. 

"At  all  events,  you  have  acted  as  though  you  did. 
On  the  very  day  when  I  promised  you  to  take  signal 
action  upon  Baron  Benoni,  you  left  me  by  stealth, 
saying  in  your  miserable  letter  that  you  had  gone  to 
a  man  who  could  both  love  and  protect  you." 

"You  did  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  sir,"  said 
Nino  boldly,  "when  you  required  of  your  daughter 
to  marry  such  a  man  as  Benoni." 

"I  have  just  seen  Benoni;  I  saw  him  also  on  the 
night  you  left  me,  madam,"  —  he  looked  severely  at 
Hedwig,  — "  and  I  am  reluctantly  forced  to  confess 
that  he  is  not  sane,  according  to  the  ordinary  standard 
of  the  mind." 

We  had  all  known  from  the  paper  of  the  suspicion 
that  rested  on  Benoni's  sanity,  yet  somehow  there 
was  a  little  murmur  in  the  room  when  the  old  count 
so  clearly  stated  his  opinion. 

"  That  does  not,  however,  alter  the  position  in  the 
least,"  continued  Lira,  "for  you  knew  nothing  of 
this  at  the  time  I  desired  you  to  marry  him,  and  I 
should  have  found  it  out  soon  enough  to  prevent  mis- 


350  A  ROMAN   SINGER. 

chief.  Instead  of  trusting  to  my  judgment,  you  took 
the  law  into  your  own  hands,  like  a  most  unnatural 
daughter,  as  you  are,  and  disappeared  in  the  night 
with  a  man  whom  I  consider  totally  unfit  for  you, 
however  superior,"  he  added,  glancing  at  Nino,  "  he 
may  have  proved  himself  in  his  own  rank  of  life." 

Nino  could  not  hold  his  tongue  any  longer.  It 
seemed  absurd  that  there  should  be  a  battle  of 
words  when  all  the  realities  of  the  affair  were  ac 
complished  facts;  but  for  his  life  he  could  not 
help  speaking. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  addressing  Lira,  "  I  rejoice  that  this 
opportunity  is  given  me  of  once  more  speaking 
clearly  to  you.  Months  ago,  when  I  was  betrayed  into 
a  piece  of  rash  violence,  for  which  I  at  once  apologised 
to  you,  I  told  you  under  somewhat  peculiar  circum 
stances  that  I  would  yet  marry  your  daughter,  if  she 
would  have  me.  I  stand  here  to-day  with  her  by  my 
side,  my  wedded  wife,  to  tell  you  that  I  have  kept  my 
word,  and  that  she  is  mine  by  her  own  free  consent. 
Have  you  any  cause  to  show  why  she  is  not  my  wed 
ded  wife?  If  so,  show  it.  But  I  will  not  let  you 
stand  there  and  say  bitter  and  undeserved  things  to 
this  same  wife  of  mine,  abusing  the  name  of  father 
and  the  terms  4  authority '  and  4  love,1  forsooth  I  And 
if  you  wish  to  take  vengeance  on  me  personally,  do  so 
if  you  can.  I  will  not  fight  duels  with  you  now,  as 
I  was  ready  to  do  the  day  before  yesterday.  For 
then  —  so  short  a  time  ago  —  I  had  but  offered  her 
my  life,  and  so  that  I  gave  it  for  her  I  cared  not  how 
nor  when.  But  now  she  has  taken  me  for  hers,  and 
I  have  no  more  right  to  let  you  kill  me  than  I  have 


A   KOMAN   SINGEE.  351 

to  kill  myself,  seeing  that  she  and  I  are  one.  There 
fore,  good  sir,  if  you  have  words  of  conciliation  to 
speak,  speak  them ;  but  if  you  would  only  tell  her 
harsh  and  cruel  things,  I  say  you  shall  not ! " 

As  Nino  uttered  these  hot  words  in  good,  plain 
Italian,  they  had  a  bold  and  honest  sound  of  strength 
that  was  glorious  to  hear.  A  weaker  man  than  the 
old  count  would  have  fallen  into  a  fury  of  rage,  and 
perhaps  would  have  done  some  foolish  violence.  But 
he  stood  silent,  eyeing  his  antagonist  coolly,  and  when 
the  words  were  spoken  he  answered. 

"  Signer  Cardegna,"  he  said,  "  the  fact  that  I  am 
here*ought  to  be  to  you  the  fullest  demonstration 
that  I  acknowledge  your  marriage  with  my  daughter. 
I  have  certainly  no  intention  of  prolonging  a  painful 
interview.  When  I  have  said  that  my  child  has  dis 
obeyed  me,  I  have  said  all  that  the  question  holds. 
As  for  the  future  of  you  two,  I  have  naturally  nothing 
more  to  say  about  it.  I  cannot  love  a  disobedient 
child,  nor  ever  shall  again.  For  the  present,  we  will 
part;  and  if  at  the  end  of  a  year  my  daughter  is 
happy  with  you,  and  desires  to  see  me,  I  shall  make 
no  objection  to  such  a  meeting.  I  need  not  say  that 
if  she  is  unhappy  with  you,  my  house  will  always  be 
open  to  her  if  she  chooses  to  return  to  it." 

"  No,  sir,  most  emphatically  you  need  not  say  it ! " 
cried  Nino,  with  blazing  eyes.  Lira  took  no  notice 
of  him,  but  turned  to  go. 

Hedwig  would  try  once  more  to  soften  him,  though 
she  knew  it  was  useless. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  in  tones  of  passionate  entreaty, 
"  will  you  not  say  you  wish  me  well  ?  Will  you  not 


352  A  ROMAN  SINGER. 

forgive  me  ?  "  She  sprang  to  him,  and  would  have 
held  him  back. 

"  I  wish  you  no  ill,"  he  answered,  shortly,  pushing 
her  aside,  and  he  marched  to  the  door,  where  he 
paused,  bowed  as  stiffly  as  ever,  and  disappeared. 

It  was  very  rude  of  us,  perhaps,  but  no  one  accom 
panied  him  to  the  stairs.  As  for  me,  I  should  not 
have  believed  it  possible  that  any  human  being  could 
be  so  hard  and  relentlessly  virtuous ;  and  if  I  had 
wondered  at  first  that  Hedwig  should  have  so  easily 
made  up  her  mind  to  flight,  I  was  no  longer  surprised 
when  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes  how  he  could  treat  her. 

I  cannot,  indeed,  conceive  how  she  could  have 
borne  it  so  long,  for  the  whole  character  of  the  man 
came  out,  hard,  colo>,  and  narrow,  —  such  a  character 
as  must  be  more  hideous  than  any  description  can 
paint  it,  when  seen  in  the  closeness  of  daily  conversa 
tion.  But  when  he  was  gone  the  sun  appeared  to 
shine  again,  as  he  had  shone  all  day,  though  it  had 
sometimes  seemed  so  dark.  The  storms  were  in  'that 
little  room.  • 

As  Lira  went  out,  Nino,  who  had  followed  Hed 
wig  closely,  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  once  more 
her  face  rested  on  his  broad  breast.  I  sat  down  and 
pretended  to  be  busy  with  a  pile  of  old  papers  which 
lay  near  my  hand  on  the  table,  but  I  could  hear  what 
they  said.  The  dear  children,  they  forgot  all  about 
me. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  dear  one,"  said  Nino,  soothingly. 

"I  know  you  are,  Nino.     But  it  cannot  be  helped." 

"But  are  you  sorry,  too,  Hedwig?  "  he  asked,  strok 
ing  her  hair. 


A  ROMAN  SINGER.  353 

"  That  my  father  is  angry?  Yes.  I  wish  he  were 
not,"  said  she,  looking  wistfully  toward  the  door. 

"  No,  not  that,"  said  Nino.  "  Sorry  that  you  left 
him,  I  mean." 

"  Ah,  no,  I  am  not  sorry  for  that.  Oh,  Nino,  dear 
Nino,  your  love  is  best."  And  again  she  hid  her 
face. 

"  We  will  go  away  at  once,  darling,"  he  said,  after 
a  minute,  during  which  I  did  not  see  what  was  going 
on.  "  Would  you  like  to  go  away  ?  " 

Hedwig  moved  her  head  to  say  "  Yes." 

"We  will  go,  then,  sweetheart.  Where  shall  it 
be?"  asked  Nino,  trying  to  distract  her  thoughts 
from  what  had  just  occurred.  "London?  Paris? 
Vienna?  I  can  sing  anywhere  now,  but  you  must 
always  choose,  love." 

"Anywhere,  anywhere;  only  always  with  you, 
Nino,  till  we  die  together." 

"Always,  till  we  die,  my  beloved,"  he  repeated. 
The  small  white  hands  stole  up  and  clasped  about 
his  broad  throat,  tenderly  drawing  his  face  to  hers, 
and  hers  to  his.  And  it  will  be  "  always,"  till  they 
die  together,  I  think. 

This  is  the  story  of  that  Roman  singer  whose  great 
genius  is  making  such  a  stir  in  the  world.  I  have 
told  it  to  you,  because  he  is  my  own  dear  boy,  as  I 
have  often  said  in  these  pages ;  and  because  people 
must  not  think  that  he  did  wrong  to  carry  Hedwig 
von  Lira  away  from  her  father,  nor  that  Hedwig  was 
so  very  unfilial  and  heartless.  I  know  that  they  were 
both  right,  and  the  day  will  come  when  old  Lira  will 


854  A   ROMAN   SINGHR. 

acknowledge  it.  He  is  a  hard  old  man,  but  he  must 
have  some  affection  for  her ;  and  if  not,  he  will  surely 
have  the  vanity  to  own  so  famous  an  artist  as  Nino 
for  his  son-in-law. 

I  do  not  know  how  it  was  managed,  for  Hedwig 
was  certainly  a  heretic  when  she  left  her  father, 
though  she  was  an  angel,  as  Nino  said.  But  before 
they  left  Rome  for  Vienna  there  was  a  little  wedding, 
early  in  the  morning,  in  our  parish  church,  for  I  was 
there ;  and  De  Pretis,  who  was  really  responsible  for 
the  whole  thing,  got  some  of  his  best  singers  from 
St.  Peter  and  St.  John  on  the  Lateran  to  come  and 
sing  a  mass  over  the  two.  I  think  that  our  good 
Mother  Church  found  room  for  the  dear  child  very 
quickly,  and  that  is  how  it  happened. 

They  are  happy  and  glad  together,  those  two  hearts 
that  never  knew  love  save  for  each  other,  and  they 
will  be  happy  always.  For  it  was  nothing  but  love 
with  them  from  the  very  first,  and  so  it  must  be  to 
the  very  last.  Perhaps  you  will  say  that  there  is 
nothing  in  this  story,  either,  but  love.  And  if  so,  it 
is  well;  for  where  there  is  naught  else  there  can 
surely  be  no  sinning,  nor  wrong-doing,  nor  weakness, 
nor  meanness ;  nor  yet  anything  that  is  not  quite 
pure  and  undefiled. 

Just  as  I  finish  this  writing,  there  comes  a  letter 
from  Nino  to  say  that  he  has  taken  steps  about  buying 
Serveti,  and  that  I  must  go  there  in  the  spring  with 
Mariuccia  and  make  it  ready  for  him.  Dear  Serveti, 
of  course  I  will  go. 

THE  END. 

*>, 

OF  THF     ^\ 

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